Promises to Keep
by Audrey Lynne
Summary: The boys and Janine find more than expected in a haunted mansion. Disney's "The Haunted Mansion," reimagined Real Ghostbusters-style. Originally published in A Small Circle of Friends 10, a fanzine devoted to repurposing storylines between fandoms.


_Originally published in: Small Circle of Friends 10_

_Author's Note:_ I'd like to file an assault charge. This story jumped me. Came right out of nowhere and bopped me on the head. I just wanted to kill a couple of hours at the movies one Sunday night; that was all. But it happened, so, without further adieu, I present _The Haunted Mansion_ . . . RGB-style.

_"For I have promises to keep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep."_

_-Robert Frost, __**Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening**_

_"Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Evers?"_

_"Yes. Yes, I do. I don't think you should put that in the listing. You should talk about how many bathrooms there are. People love bathrooms. I think we should play up the whole toilet angle and leave out ghosts for now."_

_-Edward Gracey and Jim Evers, __**The Haunted Mansion**_

_**Ballston, New York**_

Sometimes, while delivering papers on his route, Devon Wilkenson would stop to admire the sprawling mansions in the neighborhood, pretending that he lived in one of them. He'd wonder what job he could get as an adult that would allow him to live in a place like that, and he'd move on. However, one of the mansions was different from the others. There were no signs of life from the outside; the grounds looked as though they had been deserted long ago. There were rumors that the place was haunted, but no one had seen anything to confirm or deny that. Devon usually passed that one up, the old Edwards mansion—but for some reason, on this particular day, he stopped to look. Sure, it was deserted; that didn't mean there were _ghosts_ there.

Devon climbed off his bicycle, creeping progressively closer to the iron gate. It was chained—and the chains were rusty—but that didn't stop Devon from wrapping his fingers around two of the gate's bars. He didn't think he could climb over the gate, but his curiosity drew him to find out more about the Edwards mansion. What was in there?

Without warning, something seemed to leap out at him from the old house. It was as big as the mansion itself—a face only, but one with almost demonic features. A gust of wind accompanied its appearance, and Devon immediately jumped back from the gate, racing back to his bike. He pedaled away as quickly as possible, never noticing the newspaper that fell from his sack.

The paper flopped open to reveal its front-page story, about the Ghostbusters. After a moment, the wind began to blow the pages in all directions, scattering them about the area. The front page slipped between the bars of the gate, riding on the breeze as it made its way to the front door.

_**Manhattan, New York **_

Peter Venkman held the "A" section of the _New York Times_ in front of him triumphantly, the front page outturned so that his companions could read the headline. "Look, guys. We're famous. And heroes, too."

Winston Zeddemore raised an eyebrow, turning to the woman beside him. "He says that like he's just now finding this out."

"Never underestimate the ego of Peter Venkman," Janine Melnitz sighed, not looking up from her typing.

Peter shot the requisite glare in her direction. The Ghostbusters' secretary was really quite good at getting her shots in at Peter, but he certainly wasn't going to admit that. He'd just get back at her later, satisfying his role in the game they played. "Remember who signs your paychecks, Janine." He tossed the paper to Ray Stantz, then crossed around Janine's desk to sit on the front of it. "I like good press, okay? There _are_ reporters out for our blood, you know."

"The ones who don't believe in us, mainly," Ray contributed, examining the newspaper. "Hey, that's a pretty good picture of all of us."

"Yeah, even Janine," Peter added, "and _that's_ hard to do." He jumped safely out of arm's reach to avoid retaliation. It _had_ been a good picture-and article-about the bust they'd had the day before, a demon running loose in Times Square. The creature had been quite strong, and so the Ghostbusters had brought Janine along so they'd have an extra thrower and someone who knew how to use it. The bust hadn't been easy, but that made victory so much sweeter when the demon had finally been drawn into one of their traps-and then safely locked away in the containment unit where it wouldn't harm anyone else. "The Ghostbusters save the day-again."

Winston laughed. "Yeah, that's our job. If it goes bump in the night . . . ."

"We'll make it right," the others chorused; it was one of the more fun slogans they'd devised over the years, in addition to the trademark "We're here to believe you." Of course, when their movie had come out, the now-famous "Who ya gonna call?" had been permanently added to the repertoire as well.

The phone rang; Janine snatched it up about halfway through the second ring. "Ghostbusters, how can I help you?" One could typically judge Janine's current mood by the way she answered the telephone; a polite and standard greeting like that usually meant she was feeling kindly disposed toward her employers. _Always a good thing_, Peter thought, cringing inwardly as he recalled the times they'd gotten on the secretary's bad side.

Janine reached for the notepad and pen on her desk and began jotting things down. "Okay, 1364 Elwood Drive, in Ballston? Got it. What seems to be the trouble? . . . Wow, really? . . . Yes, sounds like it . . . Hang on just a second; I'll check the schedule for tomorrow . . . Hey, looks like you're in luck. We can come out tomorrow and take care of the problem. Oh . . . yes, I'm sure that can be arranged. I'll let them know . . . Actually, we usually work as a team . . . All right, I'll tell them . . . Thank you-see you tomorrow." She hung up and flashed a grin at the guys. "We got one. A big one."

"Tomorrow, right?" Peter had heard Ballston mentioned, and had no desire to drive out there immediately-or the next day, either, but he'd take what he could get.

"Right," Janine confirmed. "I didn't think we'd want to be hauling out to Ballston tonight, and tomorrow's schedule is clear."

It was one the slower seasons-but not so slow that their finances were a concern yet, and not so slow that they were bored, either. The pace had actually been rather pleasant, and Peter was reluctant to disrupt that with a job that was going to take all day, when they considered the drives there and back. "Ballston? Why Ballston?"

"Because that's where our client is," Janine answered matter-of-factly. "Are you guys going to be leaving early?"

"Depends," Peter groused, none too happy with the concept. "Wouldn't surprise me. Why, trying to see if you can get away with coming in late?"

Janine shot him a look. "No, because I'm going with you and I want to know when to be here."

"You're coming with us? Why? Is it that big?" Peter hadn't liked the sound of this from the beginning, and he liked it even less now-not because Janine was coming with them, but because the fact that she was probably meant that something powerful was lurking. That, or the place had a lot of ghosts. He didn't like either possibility.

"He didn't say how big it was," Janine told them, "just that they've had a ghost problem for awhile and he wants it ended. He doesn't know how many or what they look like, he said, but it's an old home and they're anxious to be rid of the spooks." Peter was sure that Janine had paraphrased that last part, which was confirmed when she added, "He sounds very formal."

"Let me see that address," Ray requested, reaching out for the piece of paper Janine had, which she handed to him. "Ballston, wow."

"You know it?" Egon asked, finally looking up from the textbook he'd been perusing. So he _had_ been paying attention. Peter wondered sometimes.

"Yeah!" Ray nodded fervently. "Ballston's not that far from Morrisville, maybe fifteen or twenty miles past it. There are a _lot_ of old homes up there, especially in _that_ section. We drove through it a couple of times when I was a kid. Mainly mansions-and I'm talking multi-million dollar mansions here."

That got Peter's attention. "Multi-_million_ dollar mansions?"

"Uh-huh," Ray reported. "Most of them are historical, too-built in the late 1800's, early 1900's. Lots of Late Victorian stuff."

"Great," Peter whined, completely devoid of Ray's enthusiasm. "Not only is it a haunted house, which I hate, it's an _old_ haunted house. The ceilings aren't gonna fall down on us, are they?"

"I wouldn't think so," Ray assured him. "Most of them are very well-maintained."

"So why are you coming again?" Peter asked Janine. He wasn't doing it to bug her this time; he was legitimately curious.

Janine shrugged. "The guy specifically asked for me to come. He wanted me to come alone, said I could probably handle it myself, but I told him we work together."

"If she can handle it herself," Peter said, to no one in particular, "then why are all five of us coming?"

Winston took that opportunity to jump back into the conversation. "The man probably just doesn't understand how busts can be. Maybe he thinks he's got Casper and his gang or something. 'Course, Ray here would never bust Casper, but . . . ."

Ray laughed. "Nah, he's way too cute. And he's friendly, too, remember? We don't always have to bust the ones that play nice. Wonder what this guy's got, though?"

"It does sound intriguing," Egon agreed, though he didn't raise his eyes from the pages of his book this time.

"Yeah, hanging with a bunch of exquisite dead guys." Peter refused to get excited about this.

"They might not have ever been alive," Ray pointed out. "And, _Exquisite Dead Guy_? I didn't know you liked They Might Be Giants."

"They've got some funny stuff." Peter wasn't going to admit that he'd picked the tape up from a dealer at one of the conventions Ray had dragged them to earlier that year. "Anyway, why are we even _going_ to this place? You all know what our track record's been with haunted houses! The ones that aren't a hoax-the _few_, I might add-have been nothing but trouble!"

"If you'll recall, Peter, great deal of our routine calls are, in fact, to residential estates," Egon insisted. "Wouldn't those count as 'haunted houses', too?"

Peter shook his head. "It's not the same. Those are normal people in normal houses who have a spook problem-usually a small one, if _you'll_ recall. Haunted houses are _different_. Those are always more the classic haunting stories on a large scale."

Winston looked at Ray, then Janine, and back again. "I think he just enjoys hating haunted houses too much to give it up."

Janine snickered. "I could buy that."

"Oh, let's all pick on Peter, shall we?" Peter rolled his eyes dramatically. "No one loves me."

Ray nudged him affectionately. "Aw, c'mon, you know that's not true. So, what do you say? Are we leaving for Ballston in the morning? _All_ of us?"

"I guess so," Peter acquiesced, reluctantly. "But only because you said it's probably a multi-million dollar place. People who live like that can afford to pay us well." Sure, it wasn't all about the money, but the money was a nice perk.

_**Interstate 87, near Ballston**_

"Hey, I think we just passed Morrisville-are we still in America?" Peter had made no secret of his lack of enthusiasm about this bust, and had kept up a running commentary for most of the trip.

"Peter!" Ray reached out to swat his friend playfully. "I'm _from_ Morrisville, remember?"

Peter's expression remained completely deadpan. "You have my sympathies."

Ray shook his head, rolling his eyes. Granted, Morrisville hadn't been-and still wasn't-one of the premier places in New York to grow up, but it wasn't as though Ray had much choice in the matter. He decided not to give Peter more ammunition and simply told him, "We're almost to Ballston, so relax. This is gonna be great!"

"Great?" Peter echoed. "It's a haunted house!"

"Haunted _mansion_," Ray corrected.

"So?" Peter crossed his arms over his chest. "It's a really _big_ haunted house. Nothing good _ever_ happens with us and haunted houses."

"But we busted Heck House," Ray reminded him, "and that was one of the most legendary haunted houses of all time."

"It wasn't one of the most fun experiences of my life," Peter argued.

Winston chuckled, sparing a quick glance behind him. "Life can't _all_ be fun and games, my friend."

Peter scowled, though it was clear from the rest of his body language that it was purely for show. "Too much fun is never enough."

Janine shook her head. "Peter Pan, the boy who would never grow up." Ray thought he heard a snort of laughter from Egon, in the front seat.

"Janine," Peter said, "I have only one thing to say to you." He grinned mischievously and then stuck his tongue out at her.

Janine shrugged as if to say, "Case in point."

Peter frowned, but it wasn't long before a thoughtful expression settled onto his face; complaining about the upcoming bust had apparently been abandoned in favor of one of his other favorite pastimes, bugging Janine.

Ray secretly got a kick out of watching Peter and Janine go at each other; he knew it was simply their way. They _did_ get on each others' nerves from time to time-a lot, actually-but most of their banter was the only way either of them would openly show any sort of affection for the other without there being a crisis at hand.

The remainder of the trip was fairly uneventful, if one didn't count the fact that Janine and Peter were more than happy to keep up their interplay, much to the amusement of the vehicle's other occupants. Before long, Winston was pulling Ecto up in front of an imposing wrought iron gate. To call the building that lay beyond the gate a "house" would have been a massive understatement-it was definitely worthy of "mansion" status. Ray thought it rather resembled something out of a Charles Dickens novel.

"Shouldn't the gate be opening or something?" Winston asked.

"Maybe they don't know we're here," Peter suggested. He rolled down his window and stuck his head out. "Hello, Ghostbusters!" No response. "Ghostbusters! You called us, remember?" Still nothing. Of course, Peter had never been one to give up easily. "I should try the sunroof."

To point out to Peter that what he called a sunroof had actually been designed to give them access to the proton gun on top of the converted ambulance would have been pointless. Ray settled for a shrug instead. "Do you really think it'll help? If they didn't hear you with your head out the window . . . ."

Even as Ray said it, Peter was putting his plan into action. "Hey, the Ghostbusters are here! Hello?" When nothing happened-again-Peter climbed back inside the car. "Do you suppose they're even home?"

"Perhaps there's a callbox," Egon proposed.

Peter pouted. "I didn't want to get out."

"You were going to get out anyway," Winston pointed out.

"Yeah, Pete," Ray added, unable to resist. Sure, any of them could have gotten out to check, but making Peter do it was so much more fun.

With a heavy sigh that left no doubt he was going to play the role of the martyr-and enjoy it immensely-Peter opened the door and got out of the car. Winston rolled down the driver's-side window so that they could hear each other. Peter approached the gate, then looked back at his friends. "I don't see a callbox-just this gate, and it looks like it's locked."

"What do we do now, then?" Winston asked.

"I don't know," Peter answered. He assessed the gate again, and a slow smile spread across his features. "Hey, wait a minute. One of you get out here and give me a boost; I'll hop over the gate and go around the back, surprise them. They're probably old, can't hear us."

Janine rolled her eyes, climbing out of the car to join him. "Yeah, and you'll _probably_ give them a heart attack. Let me take a look at that." As she stepped closer to the gate, the chains-which had looked rusty, anyway, from Ray's viewpoint-fell away and the gates swung open. Janine looked surprised, but recovered quickly. "Well, then." She began walking back toward Ecto. "Guess they were just taking their time. Let's go."

Peter eyed the gate suspiciously for a moment, but soon followed the secretary's lead and got back into the car as well. The driveway was long and twisting, so they took it slowly-but before long, they were pulling up in front of the mansion. Ray didn't fail to notice that the gate swung shut behind them as soon as they were clear of it. _There's something very strange about this place. _It was an exciting prospect.

Peter and Egon were the first two out that time, and so had already begun to do a bit of exploring by the time the others finished donning their proton packs. After pausing to make adjustments to the straps of his pack, Egon had his PKE meter out immediately and scanned the area. "There's definitely something inside," the blond man reported. "I'm getting readings that would indicate multiple entities, Class Three or greater, from both inside _and_ outside the mansion."

As usual, while Egon studied the metaphysical, Peter was much more interested in investigating the corporeal world. The psychologist walked past the imposing wooden and brass doors and around to the side of the building, then the sound of his footsteps stopped. "Um, guys?" he called. "I'm pretty sure I might have just figured out why this place is haunted."

"Why's that?" Ray asked, coming over to stand beside him.

Peter merely gestured with one hand in front of them, then inclined his head in that direction. "Check it out yourself."

"Wow." Ray's eyes widened as he took in the view. The mansion itself was built into a hill; the valley and the hill beyond comprised most of what they could see of the backyard. Of that land, most of it was covered with graves and statues, with a light fog hanging over the area. "It looks like a private cemetery-a really big one."

"Thank you, Mr. Obvious." Peter winked at Ray teasingly. "Gotta admit, this is a little . . . interesting."

"Well," Janine began, "some people put a swimming pool in the back, some put in a cemetery. Go figure." The ambivalence in her tone was obviously faked, and it made Ray smile.

"_I_ sure wouldn't want to be the real estate agent trying to unload that feature of this 'historic estate' on someone," Winston contributed.

"Or the ghosts," Peter supplied. "That might not be the best thing to put in the listing, either."

"Hardly," Egon agreed. He seemed just about to say something more when the clouds that had been looming overhead all day finally decided they'd had enough, and it began to rain. It was one of those downpours that begins suddenly, but in full force, and the Ghostbusters immediately ran back in the direction of the front doors, trying to keep from getting too wet.

Fortunately, one of the rooms on the second floor provided a moderately-sized overhang above the doors; the five friends huddled beneath it while waiting for someone to answer the door. The first knock appeared to have gone unnoticed, so Peter reached out to the doorknocker again. After rapping it against the door a few times, Peter examined the knocker. It was brass, shaped liked a lion's head, with the actual knocker hanging from the lion's mouth. There was one of them on each of the two doors. "Wow, those are pretty big knockers." He frowned and laughed as he realized what that sounded like. "That didn't come out right."

"I should say not." Egon's tone was fairly emotionless, but his eyes held a glint of amusement that only his friends would be able to catch.

"Where _are_ these people?" Peter was reaching up to knock for the third time when both of the doors swung open, revealing a huge foyer.

Ray gasped at the sight of it. He'd never seen anything like this before, not even at some of the ritzier establishments they'd been called to in the course of their work. "Would you look at that?" A giant arch was in the center of the room, looking as though it were made of stone. At the top of the archway was a clock; on either side, a staircase leading to the second floor. The staircases were constructed of marble and a dark wood that might have been cherry. Flames lazily danced in the fireplace on the right side of the room, guarded on each side by a stone lion. On the left side of the room was a set of double doors-wooden, with an intricate design carved into them. The doorknobs looked to be crystal; in a place like this, Ray wouldn't have been surprised. "This is incredible!" Although a layer of dust seemed to have settled over everything, and there were quite a few cobwebs visible, the room was definitely impressive. The lighting was somewhat dim, but it came from the candles that had been placed all around the room, so that was to be expected.

Peter smiled at Egon. "Good thing we were shown the firehouse and not this place when we were estate-shopping; Ray would have fallen in love and we couldn't have afforded it."

Ray shook his head at the tease. "Nah-no firepole." It had been the firepole that had really sold the place, at least for Ray. The dilapidated fire station they'd found had quickly been cleaned up and remodeled so that it was in livable condition, and it had just as quickly gone from merely being the place they lived and worked out of to being their home.

Peter looked around, frowning. "Okay, who opened the door? There's no one here, and it's too big a room for them to have gotten away before we got in."

"Maybe it was one of the ghosts," Janine suggested.

Ray looked over at Egon, who was frowning at his PKE meter while playing with the dials. Something must've been wrong with it. "Ghosts letting us in?" Ray pondered. "They'll be sorry they did." He chuckled. "Who ya gonna call?"

"Not us," Peter declared, turning around as though he intended to head out the door.

He might have made it, too, if Winston hadn't caught him by the tool belt. "Not so fast, homeboy. If we've gotta deal with this, so do you."

Peter pointed up at the clock. "Look! It's showing the wrong time-hours off, and it hasn't moved since we came in. It's stopped. That's _such_ a cliché! You read all those mystery novels, Winston-doesn't this look like the kind of place a lot of those murders happen in?"

"Fictional murders, Pete," Winston reminded him, though his grin was a mile wide. "And I didn't say that we were going to particularly enjoy it, but we're on this bust all the same. Besides, only rich people live in places like this. And rich people can pay well."

"Which was the only reason I agreed to come here in the first place," Peter finished.

There was a flash of lightening, followed almost immediately by a loud burst of thunder; they all jumped. As if on cue, an older gentleman came out of one of the rooms beyond the archway, passing beneath it to step into the foyer. He nodded politely. "Miss Melnitz?"

The Ghostbusters all exchanged surprised glances, but Janine stepped forward-she'd looked the most surprised, but had recovered quickly. "Yes, I'm Janine Melnitz."

"My name is Ripley," he responded, his faint British accent becoming more noticeable as he said more. "The master was pleased to hear that you would be coming."

Ray examined the man, whom he presumed to be the butler. Ripley's clothing fit perfectly into the style of the mansion; it was definitely from the Victorian era, and looked much like what a butler might have worn during that time. _Wonder who the costumer is, _Ray wondered idly. _The Magic Wardrobe, maybe? _They did a lot of historical pieces, and-though they were expensive-anyone who lived in a home like this would be able to afford it.

Peter had never taken well to being ignored, and this time proved to be no exception. He cleared his throat, very unsubtly.

Janine took the hint for what it was, because she nodded at Ripley, then motioned to the four men standing behind her. "These are the other Ghostbusters."

Ripley raised an eyebrow. "We were unaware that others would be coming."

Ray thought it odd that Ripley would wait to mention that; hadn't he noticed them before Janine had made a point to acknowledge their presence?

"We work as a team," Peter explained, coming forward to stand in front of Ripley. "Package deal." He extended a hand, which Ripley did not make any move to shake, even though the candlestick the butler carried was in his left hand. "Dr. Peter Venkman."

Ripley inclined his head slightly, but still didn't take the offered hand. "Very well. We'll have to set extra places. If you would all come with me . . . ?" He turned and began walking back through the archway; the Ghostbusters followed as requested.

"What did you mean by extra places?" Ray asked.

"Master Edwards wishes to discuss the affair over dinner," Ripley said.

"Dinner?" Peter echoed. "We didn't exactly plan to stay for dinner-you know, just get the job done and leave . . . ." He hesitated after Ripley turned a cautioning glance on him. "All right, maybe we could have a little soup and then get to work."

"What's wrong, Egon?" Ray asked softly, catching the look of utter frustration on the physicist's face.

"The meter," Egon sighed, fussing with it even as he walked. "Something's wrong with it. It was detecting multiple entities outside, and now it's . . . died. It won't even turn on."

Peter must have overhead, because he looked back over his shoulder, smiling. "Egon, did you forget to put new batteries in your meter again?"

"No, Peter." Egon shook the meter. "I can't explain it. It simply isn't working. I'll have to work on it later to see if I can determine the cause."

Peter reached back to pat his thrower. "As long as ol' Betsy here works, I don't think we'll have a problem. The ghosts will probably find us, anyway. They usually do. Now, come on. We don't want to keep the master waiting, do we?"

"Dinner" seemed like a massive understatement when it came to describing the veritable feast that was laid out on the table as they all stepped into the dining room. Almost everything one could have wanted, save for the main course and dessert, was spread out on the table-fruit, vegetables, rolls, biscuits . . . and much more. The table and its chairs were exceptionally crafted-dark wood, with incredible detail carved into the high backs of the chairs. There were eight chairs, three on each side of the table and one at each of the ends. Janine didn't know enough about furniture styles to hazard a guess at what era the dining room set was crafted after, but she was certainly impressed. The rest of the room was no less amazing, designed much like the front lobby had been, high ceiling and all. Standing in the midst of all this grandeur wearing her jumpsuit, boots, and a proton pack, Janine felt woefully underdressed.

Ripley watched them for a long moment, then motioned at Winston's proton pack, probably since Winston was closest. "You won't be needing those during dinner-would you like me to take care of them for you?"

"Er, that's okay, we've got them." Ray was quick to jump in, and understandably so. It was never a good idea to let amateurs handle their equipment; there was too much that could go wrong. "Is there a closet around here that we could stash them in?"

Ripley took a few quick steps to a set of double doors, smaller than most of the doors they'd seen in the mansion thus far had been, and opened them both to reveal a spacious closet. It was empty. "Would this suffice for your storage needs?"

_Does he always talk like that?_ Janine wondered. _This guy could give Egon some serious competition. _

"I believe so," Egon assured him, taking off his pack and moving to set it in the closet. He tucked the PKE meter into one of his jumpsuit's pockets. "I'll keep this with me, though, if you don't mind."

"Feel free." Ripley certainly didn't look thrilled, but it was hard to read _any_ emotion in his face. His skin was very pale, as if it hadn't seen the sun in far too long, and his hair was white, which didn't exactly do his coloring any favors. The navy suit he was wearing made him look positively ashen by contrast.

After watching as the Ghostbusters, Janine included, removed their packs and stowed them safely in the closet, Ripley closed the closet door. "I'll instruct Charles to set the extra places. Should you feel inclined to dress for dinner, clothing can be provided."

Janine wasn't sure what the guys thought about it, but she _did_ feel out of place in what she was wearing. "Sure, I'll bite. You got anything around in my size?" They probably didn't, if it was only a man living there, which seemed to be the case, but it didn't hurt to ask.

That seemed to please Ripley. "Certainly, Miss Melnitz. Anna!" At his call, a woman in a maid's dress emerged from the next room. Her outfit was also Victorian. _This Edwards guy must be a real history buff_. Or maybe his staff simply got a kick out of dressing up. "Could you take Miss Melnitz here upstairs to get dressed?"

Anna curtsied. "Of course, sir." She stared at Janine for a moment, but then recovered and nodded in the direction of the door. "If you'd come with me . . . ?"

Janine nodded as well. "All right. Thanks." As she left the room with Anna, Janine heard Peter's voice before the door snicked shut behind them.

"Hey, if she's gonna get all prettied up, why should the rest of us look like something the cat dragged in? Whaddya say, boys-shall we?"

This definitely looked as though it would end up being one of their more interesting busts.

They all arrived back in the dining room about the same time. From what Janine had seen as Anna had led her to a room to change, the rest of the mansion was no less impressive than the foyer and the dining room had been. Janine paused a moment to examine her reflection in one of the full-length mirrors of the dining room; there were mirrors in most rooms of the mansion.

Janine's dress was slate grey, with white trim at the sleeves and collar, and six pearl buttons on the front-three on each side. It was a tea-length dress, and should have looked much more severe-like something a Victorian schoolgirl might have worn-except for the way it fit Janine's body so perfectly in all the right places. She'd been amazed when she'd tried it on that it had fit so well. Anna hadn't said much, but Janine assumed the dress must belong to one of the maids; maybe it was Anna's, even-the woman was about Janine's size. After Janine had gotten dressed, Anna had swept Janine's hair up into a fancy clip, completing the look.

"Wow, Janine!" Ray's voice caught Janine's attention and she turned. "That dress looks really good on you. And your hair!"

Janine smiled. "Thanks. You don't look so bad, yourself." All four of the guys were wearing suits, of varying designs, but all period pieces. They looked quite charming in them, actually. The guys' suits had probably been borrowed from the servants' wardrobes. "Gotta say, this Mr. Edwards goes all out."

"Yes, the master appreciates the finer things in life."

Janine nearly jumped a mile; she hadn't seen Ripley come up beside her. "Oh! Hello, Ripley."

The butler nodded to acknowledge her greeting, then gestured to the table. "The places have been set. The master will be with you shortly."

Peter grinned. "Thank you, Ripley. Carry on."

Ripley bowed a little, then left the room.

Peter laughed softly. "How do you like that? I say, 'Carry on,' and he leaves! That's great!"

Janine swatted him. "Grow up, will you?"

"I thought you said I was Peter Pan," he reminded her.

"It was a comment, not an order."

That got her a shrug, before Peter started examining the sleeves of the suit jacket he was wearing, and looked himself over. "Gotta say, these are some nice threads, and I'm not one for doing this whole costume thing. I usually leave that to Ray's friends."

"Yes," Egon agreed. "The clothing is quite nice. Granted, we'll likely be changing back into our regular clothes after dinner, but there's no harm in dressing up for dinner with Mr. Edwards. He might even be more cooperative, if he is as fond of costuming as it would seem."

"Maybe it's just his staff," Peter suggested. "You know, I'm gonna laugh long and hard if that guy strolls in here wearing a Yankees t-shirt and a pair of jeans."

"I doubt that'll happen," Winston contributed. "These outfits cannot be cheap. I realize that money's not really an object for him, but I doubt he'd invest so much in all of this if he only wanted to watch his staff parading around, looking the part. Did you see that black dress and pinafore the maid was wearing? My brother's wife rented something like that once for a costume party-ran her almost a hundred dollars. And that was just for a one-night rental. Sure, those rental places jack prices up, but still . . . buying this stuff has to cost a lot."

"True," Peter allowed. "But does anyone else find it odd that they had clothes around that happened to fit us? I mean, sure, they don't fit exactly; I'd have the stuff taken in if we were buying. But where did it come from? We've only seen Ripley, the maid, and one servant."

"There are undoubtedly many more servants," Egon pointed out. "These suits are likely from their wardrobes. Janine's dress might belong to the maid we saw, or one of the other female staff members."

"I'm sure it does." Janine brushed a bit of dust off the dress's sleeves. "I guess I got lucky-this fits really well."

"I'm so glad to hear that," an unfamiliar male voice said. When Janine looked in that direction, she saw a dark-haired man standing in the doorway, also in period costume. He smiled warmly at Janine, then inclined his head in greeting. "Miss Melnitz. My name is William Edwards. I'm so happy to see that you could make it. And you look lovely."

"Thank you, Mr. Edwards." Janine stepped to one side so that Edwards could have a full view of the guys. "And these are the Ghostbusters-Dr. Egon Spengler, Winston Zeddemore, Dr. Ray Stantz, and Dr. Peter Venkman."

"Yes, Ripley told me." Edwards didn't seem to care one way or the other, but at least he didn't look outright displeased, the way Ripley had. "Please, have a seat." He allowed the guys to seat themselves, but waited for Janine, pulling out her chair and pushing it in again. Janine thought she might have seen Egon watching the man suspiciously for a moment, but acknowledged that it could just have easily been wishful thinking. With Egon, it was hard to tell sometimes.

After they'd been seated, and the servant they'd seen around-Charles, Janine thought his name was-had begun to walk around the table, making sure everyone had salad, Peter looked over at Edwards. "So, Mr. Edwards, what can the Ghostbusters do for you?"

"Ah, a man who likes to get down to business," Edwards observed. "Very well. This may seem a strange question, given your occupation . . . but do you believe in ghosts, Dr. Venkman?"

That one only two Peter about two seconds to answer. "I'd be a fool not to, with all I've seen. Why? Had problems getting people to believe you? That's what we're here for."

Edwards sighed. "It's not that, exactly. Let me see if I can explain. Do you believe that human beings do, normally, pass on to the other side after death?"

Peter nodded. "Absolutely."

"I'm glad," Edwards responded, smiling, "because so do I. However, do you also believe that-should something be left unfinished in their lives-they can potentially remain bound to this earth?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely," Peter replied. "We've seen a lot of cases like that in our line of work."

"Do you always, er, 'bust' such spirits?" Edwards seemed somewhat uncomfortable with the concept.

Peter shook his head. "Oh, no. With formerly human spirits-we classify them in our system as either Class Three or Class Four-we only trap and contain them as a last resort. We usually try to help them finish whatever they left unresolved so that they can move on."

"Peter's really good at that," Ray supplied. "He's our resident psychologist." Peter brightened at the praise.

The information brought a smile to Edwards' face. "That is very good news indeed. I would hope that you'd be able to help the spirits in this mansion move on. But, if they must be trapped, I suppose that's simply the way it will have to be. It's merely containment in your facility, isn't it? No destruction?"

"Nope, we don't have that capability yet," Winston explained. "We just put 'em to bed and keep 'em out of peoples' way. You think your ghosts are human, then?"

Edwards nodded. "I know they are."

"How many do you think there are?" Ray asked.

"At least four that I'm aware of," Edwards answered, "but it's my belief that there may be more. They're anxious to move on."

"Have you spoken with them, Mr. Edwards?" Egon asked.

"On a few occasions, yes." Edwards paused to sip at his wine. "I haven't got 'the sight', as they call it, but I have seen them. It wasn't a problem until recently; they've been my companions."

"Then what happened?" Janine asked. "Did they start making trouble?"

Edwards watched her for a long moment before replying, his expression unreadable. "No, no, nothing like that, Miss Melnitz. They've simply become . . . restless, I suppose you could say. They long to be free. I don't blame them." His head turned to look at the maid as she took his bowl to pour a ladle full of soup into it. "Thank you, Anna." His attention was returned to the Ghostbusters. "How are your meals so far?"

"Oh, very good-thank you," Peter told him. The others were quick to agree.

"Yes," Janine added, "this soup is amazing."

"We have a wonderful cook," Edwards said, beaming at Anna, who blushed.

"Thank you, sir, but it's really nothing," Anna insisted, waving a hand dismissively.

"Nonsense." Amusement lurked in the man's brown eyes. "You're the best cook I've ever had, especially considering that I hired you on as a maid. And you do both jobs wonderfully."

"Thank you, sir," she repeated, before moving off to do something else.

Janine found it interesting that Edwards seemed to be so fascinated with their methods; most clients never asked the questions he had. They simply wanted their home de-haunted. Maybe she should try for more answers. "You seem very interested in how we do our work."

"I am," Edwards admitted. "There's no one else quite like you." The statement was ostensibly directed at all the Ghostbusters, the business, but something about the look on Edwards' face as he said it-the way he was looking right at her-made Janine feel vaguely uncomfortable. "I also wouldn't want these ghosts harmed, if it could be avoided. As I said before, they've been my companions for some time."

"Do you know where they came from? Who they were?" Ray inquired.

"I've had my suspicions as to what happened, but nothing concrete," Edwards replied. "I think they've been here a long time."

"How did you acquire this mansion, Mr. Edwards?" Egon asked, then added, "Many hauntings can be explained by the history of the dwelling in which they occur."

Edwards laughed softly. "That's at least an easy question. This mansion is my birthright-my inheritance. It's been in my family since it was built."

Janine smiled. "It's gorgeous."

That earned her another of those piercing gazes that Edwards seemed fond of tossing Janine's way, as though he were trying to look into her very soul. "Thank you. Great care and love went into the building of this mansion. My grandfather wanted only the very best. Over the years, it has lost some of its original shine, but I hope that can one day be restored."

"We'll do what we can to help you with that," Winston promised.

"I appreciate that."

Dinner turned into quite an affair, with the soup and salad only having been a precursor to the main entrée, a fabulous chicken dish. The conversation remained on the topic of the resident ghosts.

Peter was just wondering what time they would get out of there that night when Ripley came in, glancing out the window. "The storm has flooded the road," he informed them gravely.

"What?" That got Peter's attention.

"The storm has flooded the road," Ripley repeated. "I'm afraid it will be impossible to leave Edwards Manor tonight."

"Guess we don't have to worry about what time we're getting out of here, then," Peter sighed.

"You're all, of course, welcome to stay here," Edwards volunteered. "There's plenty of room-we'd be delighted to have you."

Ray shook his head. "That's a great offer, but . . . ."

"There's no other way," Ripley insisted. "Your vehicle could not possibly leave here safely. These roads are quite treacherous at night, especially when water remains on them."

"It would appear that we have little choice, then," Egon contributed.

"On the bright side," Winston pointed out, "gives us more time to get this job taken care of and not have to worry about finding a hotel."

They could all agree on that, at least.

"After dinner," Ripley began, "I shall show you to your rooms."

"Okay," Peter agreed. "Then we can get to work on this little ghost problem of yours."

"By all means." Ripley didn't look like he cared one way or another, but his expression had been quite neutral throughout almost all of the times they'd seen him.

During the discussion of lodging arrangements, Janine had been quite aware of the fact that Edwards' gaze had lingered on her. What was it about her that he found so fascinating? Did he ever get out? How long had it been since he'd seen a woman other than Anna, or one of the other as-yet-unseen female staff members? Under other circumstances she might have been flattered; she might even have tried to see if the man's attention to her had registered with Egon and whether or not Egon was jealous. But, now, something inside-women's intuition, perhaps?-told Janine to tread carefully. She intended to.

Their rooms were on the second floor-and, fortunately, fairly close together. That would help if the team needed to unite quickly in the middle of the night for any reason; they never liked to get too far apart from each other when on out-of-town busts. There was too much that could go wrong. Ray and Winston had been shown to their room and Janine to hers; Peter and Egon's was the last on the hall. Ripley shifted the candelabra he carried from one hand to the other so that he could open the door. "You should be comfortable in here."

"Yeah, it'll be kind of like staying in a fancy hotel." Once Peter had seen the rooms, his annoyance at having to stay overnight at the mansion had begun to fade. This was class, the lifestyle of the rich and famous. Granted, William Edwards wasn't exactly famous . . . of course, the Ghostbusters were famous but definitely not rich.

"Quite." It was unclear if Ripley agreed or if he was simply brushing Peter off. "Is there anything else that you require?"

Peter briefly debated asking if Ripley was going to leave a chocolate on their pillows, like at the fancy hotels, but decided against it. _The joke would probably go over this guy's head, anyway. _"No, not really. Thanks. One question, though."

"Yes?"

"You ever considered trying a tanning salon?" Peter couldn't resist. "I know some people in the city who run a good one; they could work wonders for that complexion of yours." He ignored the elbow in his side, courtesy of Egon.

"It's something to take into consideration." Without elaborating further, Ripley left.

Egon sighed long-sufferingly. "Peter . . . ."

"What?" Peter demanded, once he was sure that he and Egon were alone. "Spengs, that guy is practically albino, except he doesn't have red eyes! And you say _I'm_ pale!"

"I agree that it looks somewhat unnatural," Egon allowed, "but that's no reason to bring up tanning salons."

"You're just jealous that you didn't think of it first," Peter accused playfully. "I guess it's a good thing I didn't ask him about leaving chocolates on the pillows."

"I suppose I should be grateful for that much. Honestly, Peter, sometimes I begin to think that I can't take you anywhere."

Peter winked at him, and moved to sit on the plush couch that was near the bed. "Ah, you know it's all part of my charm."

"Your dubious charm, perhaps," Egon teased, then sank down onto the edge of the bed and began to play with his PKE meter again. "I don't know what's wrong with it!"

Peter hopped up from the couch, though the idea draping himself across it and sneaking a nap while Egon tried to figure out the problem was tempting. "Got any clues?"

Egon's frustration was evident. "None whatsoever. It's almost as though something's _blocking_ it. But what?"

"That's your department, not mine," Peter reminded him, but he tried to think of something anyway. Sometimes, just running his mouth could lead to ideas-and running his mouth was something Peter _was_ good at. "Okay, so you're convinced it's not a problem with the meter's actual power. We know they work almost anywhere. I don't recall seeing any lights in here, other than the candles and the kerosene lamps here and there, so I'm not sure whether or not the place has any electricity to tap into and test the theory. Probably wouldn't matter anyhow. So let's assume something _is_ blocking it. What could do that?"

"Any number of things," Egon replied, "most of which are likely supernatural. It would have to be something associated with the interior of this mansion, because it was working fine outside."

"Supernatural," Peter mused. "You mean like when the Ghostmaster put that spell or whatever it was on us so anything we touched would go dead?"

"It was anything in a thirty-foot radius, Peter; touch had nothing to do with it," Egon corrected, but there was no harshness in the tone. "And we've already busted the Ghostmaster-though I suppose the theory could be tested." He switched the meter on again, then set it on the bed and began to back away, motioning for Peter to join him. "If it's our proximity that's the key factor, then the meter should activate once we're far enough away, theoretically."

"Lot of good that does us, though, if we have to stay thirty feet-or more-from the meters," Peter sighed.

"Or our packs," Egon added. "I would assume that whatever's blocking the meter would affect the proton packs as well. And the traps."

"Then we're screwed if these ghosts turn out not to be too friendly!" Peter exclaimed, sighing again as they backed into the wall on the opposite side of the hallway from there room. The meter showed no signs of life.

"Essentially, yes," Egon agreed, heading back into the room, "at least until we figure out a way to combat this. However, we _have_ been 'screwed' before, and we're still here."

"Says something for our ingenuity, I guess," Peter commented, following Egon. He grinned. "I know you and Ray will get answers-somehow. Who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky and all we'll have to do is have a nice, long chat with these ghosts about what they never got to finish when they were alive." He was too much of a realist to count on that, but one could always hope. "But, in the meantime, we need a plan."

"Agreed. Do you have one?"

"Sure do," Peter confirmed. He returned to the couch he'd been sitting on before. "We take a few minutes, let the others get settled in their rooms and get their theories together. You mess with the meter; I'll try to think of something that might help us out here, since I doubt the ghosts are going to pop in and introduce themselves. Then we go out, get the guys and Janine, and get this job done so we can call it a night and go home in the morning. Sound good to you?" Egon nodded. "Great. Then let's do it. I think there's just one more thing that needs to be said."

"And that would be . . . ?" Egon prompted.

"I _told_ you haunted houses were nothing but trouble."

Janine stood in front of the full-length mirror in her room for a long time, facing her own reflection. It wasn't out of vanity; she hadn't actually been looking at herself for most of that time. Her mind had wandered and she'd begun to speculate about what the attention William Edwards had focused on her might mean. Janine had struggled with self-image issues at various points in her life, but it had never been so bad that she didn't think it possible for a man to find her attractive. Had the circumstances been any different, Janine might have chalked it up to that-Edwards was interested in her. However, her years spent with the Ghostbusters had taught Janine to be more wary. A part of her wondered if there might not be something more to it, something unnatural. Without a working PKE meter, it would be hard to tell. Janine hoped that Egon would be able to find the problem and fix it; they never realized how much they depended on their technology until it wasn't available to them.

A sharp rap at the door startled Janine from her reverie. She took a moment to recover, then asked, "Who's there?"

"Avon lady," came the sarcastic reply.

"What do you want, Venkman?"

Peter's sniff was audible even from the other side of the door. "I'm wounded."

Janine shook her head as she crossed the room to open the door. Peter was still wearing the suit he'd had on at dinner-of course, Janine was in the same dress. She'd gotten distracted before she had time to change. "What's up? Egon fix the meter yet?"

"No, not yet," Peter answered. "Just letting you know-we're all meeting in the foyer downstairs in an hour. Hopefully, the Brain Trust will have figured something out by then. If not, we can put our heads together and figure out what we're going to do. I've got to meet with Mr. Edwards first; Ripley said the guy wanted a word with me. About what, I don't know. I'm hoping it'll be twenty minutes, tops."

"Nothing takes twenty minutes," Janine argued.

"I know-which is why we're getting together in an hour. See you then." Peter waved, then continued down the hall in the direction of the staircase.

"See you," Janine echoed, despite the fact that he was probably out of earshot by then.

The door was still open, and Anna poked her head inside. She seemed to have relaxed somewhat around Janine, though she still threw the secretary the occasional odd look. "Is there anything I can get you?"

_Say what you will about the place, _Janine thought, _but you can't beat the service._ Janine briefly debated asking the woman to come back in an hour and wake her up; the bed looked awfully inviting and there was no telling when they'd get to bed that night. But her better judgment intervened, and Janine waved the woman off. "Thanks, but no. I'm fine."

Anna nodded, curtseying a little, and scurried off down the hall.

Janine decided to take the opportunity to explore the room. She picked up the candlestick that rested on the nightstand next to the bed and walked over to the dressed, where several old-style perfume bottles were arranged. Most of them were half-full, and Janine wondered where they had come from. Edwards had mentioned living alone, except for his staff, but the room's decor and many of the items in it suggested that a woman did indeed live there. Had she lived here once, and left? Was Edwards a widower? There were so many questions, and most of them lacked answers. It was frustrating, but it also presented a challenge-and Janine had never been one to turn away from a challenge. As her father had once said, the Melnitz women lived for that sort of thing.

"This place is unbelievable," Ray breathed, as he continued to check out the room that would be theirs for the night. "The architecture, the decor . . . ."

"The lack of electricity," Winston supplied, flashing Ray a cheeky grin as he motioned to the candelabra on the nearest table.

Ray bit his lip thoughtfully. "Hmm. We already know that this is a late Victorian mansion. Edison invented the first working light bulb in 1859, so it's entirely possible that they have some electricity, but chose to use it sparingly. You know, add to the atmosphere. They wouldn't have lit the whole place back then anyway, I don't think. It really wasn't done. At least they have indoor plumbing."

"True," Winston allowed, "and I can't tell you how grateful I am for that. I like history, but there are some parts of it I'd just as soon not experience."

Ray murmured something that sounded like agreement, but it was hard to make out-his eyes were fixed on a small chest that sat atop the dresser. It was decorated with a multitude of ornate designs and latched in the front. Winston started placing mental bets on how long it would take Ray to give into curiousity and open the thing. Obviously, if he found anything personal in there, Ray wouldn't rifle through it, but the mystery of what the box held would be an alluring one to Ray. Truth be told, Winston was a little intrigued, too. "Gosh, this is gorgeous." Hesitantly, he reached out and undid the latch.

_Told you he wouldn't last five minutes, _Winston said to whatever imaginary person he'd placed the "bet" against.

As Ray opened the chest, a slow, sweet tune began to play, and Ray's eyes lit up with delight. "Oh, neat! A music box!" As he opened the box the rest of the way, they could both see the figurines that danced with the music. It was a man and a woman, both appearing to have come from the same time period as the rest of the mansion. The woman had long red hair, cascading in curls down her back. It had to be a commissioned piece. No artist could have pulled that level of detail from thin air. There was even a distinct sense of the love that the people represented by the figurines had for one another.

Ray jumped back in surprise as a glowing mist emerged from the box, rising to hover above the dresser. It formed itself into something that resembled a ball, but was still surrounded by the wispy trails of whatever sort of ectoplasm it was made of. "Whoa! Winston, look at that!"

Winston didn't need a PKE meter to tell him that it was some sort of ghost-probably a Class Two, though ghosts from the other classes occasionally disguised themselves in such a form. Wouldn't be the first time. "What is it, some sort of ghost ball?"

"I guess so." Ray's brown eyes were wide and alight with excitement. "Looks like a Class Two, but I wouldn't want to say anything for sure until we've got a working meter."

"Think this is one of the ghosts Edwards mentioned, or is it one he missed?" Winston asked.

"The ghosts he described sounded like your typical Class Three-maybe Class Four-ghost, so I'm assuming this is a new one."

"Great," Winston sighed. "And we don't have our proton packs with us." Ripley hadn't wanted them to take the packs into the bedrooms; the Ghostbusters had left them in the closet downstairs.

"We might not need them," Ray pointed out. "It hasn't tried anything yet. Maybe it's harmless." The "ghost ball" began to move toward one of the doors at the back wall of the bedroom. Ray had already tried the door and found that it opened into a very long hallway. "Look! I think it wants us to follow it."

"I think you're crazy." Winston frowned. If they weren't going to bust a ghost, Winston usually preferred to leave it alone. "First of all, we don't know where it's going to take us. Second of all, you don't know if it's really friendly or if it just _seems_ like it. And, third of all, we've got to meet the other guys and Janine downstairs in an hour."

"Maybe if we can figure out what this ghost wants, it'll give us a clue to help take care of the others," Ray suggested. "We can follow it for awhile and still get back in time for the meeting."

It was solely for that reason-_Okay, and the fact that you don't want Ray wandering around the mansion alone-_that Winston gave in and agreed. "All right, but at the first sign of anything freaky, we head straight back here."

The misty ghost disappeared through the door. Ray paused only to grab one of the candlesticks, and then hurried over to open the door. After exchanging a glance, he and Winston began to make their way down the hallway, following the ghost.

Ripley had taken Peter to the library to wait for Edwards, but it had been a few minutes since the butler had left, and Peter was beginning to get a little bored. It wasn't that he had an extraordinarily short attention span; he could certainly concentrate on something when it was necessary. However, Peter was anxious to get to the part of their job that they actually got paid for, the part where they took care of the ghost problem.

The library was just as impressive as the rest of the mansion, with walls of bookshelves packed with a plethora of books. Peter liked the world to think he never read if he could help it-but beyond his sneaking fondness for Westerns, he'd also managed to read most of the classics. Some of them had been required for courses he'd been taking in college, but Peter had picked up a few of them either out of curiousity or at Ray's urging. William Edwards had an expansive collection; some of the titles looked as thought they might have been original copies. It wouldn't have entirely surprised Peter to learn that they were.

Peter laughed softly as he picked up the nearest book. Though the library was well-developed, it was also a bit cluttered-not to the point of being messy, at least not in most spots, but it looked lived-in. The maid probably hadn't been in yet. Peter glanced at the title of the book as he set it back down on the table. _Tales of Africa_.

"Interesting," Peter mused, then jumped and whirled about as he sensed that someone was behind him. It turned out to be Ripley. "You sure know how to scare a guy!"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Venkman," Ripley apologized. "It was not my intention to frighten you. Would you care for a drink?"

"Sure," Peter said. "Whatcha got?"

"Scotch, if you please," Ripley answered.

Peter wasn't usually much for hard liquor, but that sounded good. "Great, thanks." He couldn't resist adding, "What year?"

"Ninety-nine."

Peter frowned. "You sure? Last I checked, this was 1994."

"I meant 1899," Ripley clarified.

"Oh." _Duh, Venkman._ Peter had to consciously try to keep his jaw from hitting the floor. He watched, still surprised, as Ripley poured a glass of the amber liquid into a glass, then left the room.

Peter sipped at the scotch cautiously. _For a guy who usually buys cheap wine from the local grocery store, this is certainly a step up in the world._ Shifting the glass from his right hand to his left, Peter flipped open the book on Africa that he'd left lying on the table. After sneaking a glance to be sure that he was alone, Peter adopted his best attempt at an aristocratic-sounding accent. "Have you read any good books lately? I've just finished the most wonderful story about-" Peter glanced at the author's name, "Mr. Goodwin's trip to Africa. Would you like a drink? I'll have my butler fetch it for you." He turned to his side, facing the imaginary butler, but thought he saw something. A trick of the light, or a ghost? Peter backed up to investigate, tripping over a stack of books behind him. He fell backwards against one of the bookcases, knocking several books loose. The bookcase immediately slid to one side, revealing a stone passageway and staircase. Peter stood, staring at it. "A secret passage. Cool." Peter began to put the books that had fallen back into their places on the shelf. When he got to one book in particular, one that hadn't fallen all the way off the shelf, the bookcase slid back into its original position. Experimentally, Peter pulled the book out again. The bookcase slid aside again.

Peter wasn't quite as innately curious as Ray, but he had his moments. He had to see where the staircase led. He'd just leave the door open and return to the library shortly. No one would miss him. After pausing to take one of the candelabras with him, Peter stepped across the threshold of the doorway and onto the first step. The door slid shut again.

"Hey!" Peter yelled. "Open up!" He hurried over to bang against it for a few moments, but it was stone and he realized he was only going to hurt himself. "If anyone's out there, could you pull the book off the shelf again? It's the red one with gold lettering!"

There was no response, and Peter sighed heavily as he realized that he now had no choice but to follow this staircase to wherever it led, and figure out how to get back to the library from there. "Where's that creepy butler when you need him?" The psychologist continued up the stairs, hoping whatever he found would at least be interesting.

Giving up for the moment-but definitely not for good-Egon set the PKE meter aside, and ventured out into the hall outside his and Peter's room. Egon had briefly considered changing out of the suit he'd been lent, but opted not to when he considered the idea that exploring the mansion might be much easier if he were able to blend in; in a place like this, the jumpsuits did tend to stand out.

Taking a candle to light the way, Egon walked to the end of the hallway, wondering if the wall panel he'd thought looked slightly ajar really was, or if it hid some passage. True, such things were best put to use in fiction, rather than real life, but Egon knew enough about architecture to know that many homes from this era did come with secret tunnels and staircases, for reasons known only to the builder. There were many influences from the late Victorian age present, which meant that the home had probably been built sometime after 1880. The Civil War would have been over, so Egon was sure it wasn't for the purpose of smuggling slaves-and they were far enough north that it wouldn't have been a big issue to start. Perhaps to make it easier for the house staff to get around? It wasn't really important, the physicist supposed.

The panel did indeed conceal a passageway, and Egon wondered if some of the ghosts didn't lurk in some of these hidden staircases and hallways. It would be ideal to keep themselves out of sight should visitors drop by, but able to come out and manifest whenever they wanted.

"Fascinating," Egon whispered, enthralled with the concept. Of course, the wisdom of pursuing this theory alone was debatable. If Egon happened to encounter multiple ghosts, he could get in trouble quickly, especially unarmed. _But Edwards said that the ghosts were friendly, merely anxious to move on. _They faced danger nearly every day; what was one more time?

It might not have been one of the most brilliant decisions Egon Spengler had ever made in his lifetime, and he was well aware of the fact. But scientific curiousity drove him to take his candle, step into the passage, and explore, the risks be damned.

"Hurry, Winston, over here!" At times the ghost ball they were following was easy to keep up with, but sometimes it sped up, leaving Ray and Winston trailing behind. Currently, it was doing the latter, and Ray was hoping they wouldn't lose it.

"I'm coming, man; I'm coming." Winston didn't seem to be convinced of the need to follow their new ethereal friend, but he went along with it anyway. Ray just _knew_ there was something important for them to see, or maybe even do. He wasn't crazy about doing anything without a proton pack handy; at times the packs were less advanced weaponry and more forty-pound security blankets. But they didn't have their proton packs handy, so they'd have to make do with what they had. _Which isn't much._ Even Ray's natural optimism had its limits. But he did love Ghostbusting and all that went along with it-okay, most of it. The number of times he and his friends had christened the hospitals of New York City, Ray could have lived without.

The ghost ball, which Ray soon dubbed "Misty" in order to have something to call it, paused in front of an old-style elevator, the kind in which one had to slide the gate aside in order to enter.

"Neat!" Ray exclaimed. "I've always wanted to ride in one of these things." He got in, then looked at Winston. "You coming?"

"Yeah, I'm coming," Winston sighed. "Can't say I'm crazy about it, but I'm coming." He got into the elevator, beside Ray. Misty joined them. "This thing's got to be ancient. I hope it doesn't get us killed."

"Ecto-2 hasn't," Ray contributed, "and you know how many times Peter's insisted that thing's a flying deathtrap."

"I don't suppose this would be a good time to remind you that we've had to rebuild Ecto-2 several times after various crashes that we've been lucky enough to escape from relatively unharmed?"

"Okay," Ray conceded, as they began to go up, "bad example. If it makes you feel better, I don't think Misty would have us take this thing if it were dangerous."

"Misty?" Winston echoed, glancing at the spirit in question. "You _named_ it?"

"Hey," Ray defended playfully, "no one complained when I named Slimer."

"That's different. We were keeping him . . . sorta." Winston gave Misty another look. "I hope you're not planning on 'accidentally' letting this thing follow you home. She puts on a pretty show, but one ghost is enough. We're not keeping her."

"She, Winston?"

"Well, if you're gonna name the thing something like 'Misty' . . . ."

It had been an hour, and Janine was now convinced more than ever that a woman-one of some importance, guessing from the splendor of the room-had, at one point, lived in the mansion. Too much of her remained.

That mystery could be solved later, though. Even if it weren't, it probably didn't really matter. Janine had to get downstairs to meet up with the guys.

When she walked into the lobby, Janine was surprised to find that she was the only one there. She was a few minutes late; she'd gotten distracted by her exploration of the room, hoping the secrets it held could be revealed to her.

"Guys?" she called, wondering if she'd somehow misremembered Peter's instructions. _He said to meet in the foyer, didn't he?_

"Can I help you?"

Janine jumped a little, then recognized the man standing beside her as Charles; Anna had pointed him out to her. Janine hadn't seen the servant approaching, but at least he didn't seem to come from out of nowhere the way Ripley did. "Oh, hello. I'm looking for my friends. Have you seen them?"

Charles frowned momentarily. "I think I saw Dr. Venkman in the library a little while ago. Would you like me to take you there?"

"That'd be great," Janine said, smiling. "Thank you."

"It's no problem at all," he assured her.

Charles led her to the library, stopping a few feet short of the doorway and motioning for Janine to go inside. Janine wondered about that at first, but decided not to question in and went into the library.

The room Janine found herself stepping into was certainly worthy of "library" status. There were books everywhere, as well as a velvet-upholstered couch to read them on. Though the back of the couch was to her, Janine could see that there was someone sitting on it. A shock of brown hair gave the man's identity away. "Hey, Dr. V, I thought you said we were meeting up in the foyer."

The man rose and turned toward Janine, making it clear that it was a case of mistaken identity. It was William Edwards.

"Hello, Miss Melnitz," Edwards greeted her.

It took Janine a second to find her voice again. "Mr. Edwards! Hi."

Edwards bent to pick a book up from the floor, then set it on the nearby table. "Do you like to read?"

Janine allowed herself a mental shrug; it was a fair enough question. "Yes, actually. I read a lot." Granted, she'd mainly been reading trashy romance novels lately, escapist fare, but she saw no need to mention that detail.

"Wonderful. So do I." Edwards stepped around a pile of books on the floor, then knelt to stack them of top of each other. "I'd better tidy this up; Ripley hates it when I leave things lying around."

"Symmetrical book stacking," Janine murmured, the corners of her lips quirking upward in a tiny smile. _Okay, that's it, Janine; you've officially been up too long. I hope we can get this bust taken care of quickly so I can get some sleep._ She knelt beside Edwards and grabbed a few books, handing them to him. "Ripley does seem rather proper."

"He strikes most people that way," Edwards agreed. "Once you get to know him, however, you'll find that he does have a very caring side. He's watched out for me since I was a child."

"I see." Janine wasn't terribly interested in hearing about Ripley. Though she still wondered where Peter and the rest of the guys had gotten off to, she also wanted to know more about the mystery woman of Edwards Manor-but didn't know how to ask. "You have a lovely home, Mr. Edwards."

"Please," he invited, "call me William. And thank you."

"You're welcome," Janine responded. "And call me Janine."

"Janine," he echoed, as though trying the name out. He smiled at her charmingly. "A beautiful name for a beautiful lady."

Janine blushed despite herself. She could have counted on one hand the number of men who had told her she was beautiful, family not included. Sure, once in awhile, she might "look good", but it was far more rare to such a sentiment put to her this way. Whether he actually meant it or was simply trying to charm her, Janine didn't much care at the moment. "Thank you."

"I'm glad you like the mansion," William continued. "It has, of course, faded very much from its original glory. Once upon a time, Edwards Manor was a grand and glorious place to be. Being born into the Edwards family meant that you would be denied nothing. There were parties, dancing . . . it was full of life." He sighed softly. "Life-and most importantly, hope."

Janine's eyes met his, and she found him gazing back at her soulfully. "What happened?"

Another sigh. "_She_ did."

She. A woman. Was it the mystery woman Janine had been wondering about, or another? "Who was she?"

There were no words to adequately describe the longing in William's expression as he whispered, "Rebekah."

"Well, that was lame," Peter decided, realizing that after all the paths he'd followed and the stairs he'd climbed, the secret passageway had only taken him to the second floor, just outside of their rooms. A panel in the wall opened, allowing him into the hallway. Across the hall, it looked like a second panel might be ajar, but Peter found his curiousity fading. It was time to meet the rest of the Ghostbusters anyway. Actually, he was late; they were probably wondering where he was. Opting to take the more mundane route back to the first floor, Peter began walking down the hallway to the staircase.

There was no one in the foyer, not even Ripley, who seemed to be everywhere at once.

"Guys?" Peter called, wondering if they'd wandered off to explore while waiting for him. "Egon? Winston? Ray?" No response. "Janine?" Peter blew air between his lips impatiently. "C'mon, guys, I'm not _that_ late. I got stuck in the wall, and there was this total maze-only to drop me off outside our rooms! Talk about anticlimactic; what a rip-off! I'd just like you to know that I feel completely cheated." Maybe if he kept running his mouth, it would keep him from thinking about the uneasy feeling that was beginning to creep into the back of his mind. There were times that hearing the sound of his own voice was much better than listening to silence. Peter had never cared for the sound of being alone.

"Welcome, my friends, to the castle of no return . . . ." Peter sang softly and slightly off-key. A woman he'd dated a few years ago had been heavily into community theatre. She'd played the Wicked Witch of the West in a production of _Oz!_, which, near as Peter could tell, was intended to be a somewhat updated version of _The Wizard of Oz. _He'd attended a number of rehearsals, as well as the opening night, and had heard enough of the Witch's song that he actually remembered a good deal of it; the song was the only one he could think of at the moment that was even remotely appropriate to the situation. He hummed through the rest of the introduction, which he didn't recall the words to, then resumed with, "Come on along and be my guest; rest assured, it's no request." Peter paused at that. It sounded a heck of a lot like what had happened to them tonight. They'd never had any choice about whether or not they actually _wanted_ to stay in the mansion.

With a distinct lack of anything better to do while he was trying to find his friends, Peter continued singing. After all, the guys always complained about his singing. Maybe one of them would come out and tell him not to give up his day job. "I never fool, never jest . . . I'm the queen of hags, a black magic momma . . . . Hey! Janine! You missed it! The first and only time I'll ever use the words 'I'm' and 'queen' in the same sentence!" Had Janine been lurking nearby, the challenge would almost certainly have drawn her out. When neither she nor any of the others appeared, Peter shrugged and continued prowling about the area, hoping he'd find his friends soon. Even with a candle to light the way, being alone in parts of this mansion was just plain creepy. "Come on along and be my slave; I'll work you to an early grave . . . ."

_Ah, yes, the "picture frame that hides a doorway" trick,_ Egon thought, realizing that was exactly what he'd stepped through after reaching what had originally looked to be a dead end. A little pushing on the walls had revealed an exit which was, from the other side of the wall, a giant portrait. Egon pushed the frame back into place, feeling an illogical sense of relief when the door clicked shut. He couldn't quite describe the feeling that came over him, but he didn't like it. It was a rare feeling he'd had only a few times before, always on busts, and never on busts that had ended well. His teammates had admitted to having similar experiences, and Peter had resolved to test them all for psychic abilities. Peter hadn't found anything conclusive, but it was enough to make one wonder.

_If only the feeling could be adequately described. _The scientist in Egon always hated to not have a name for something. It was almost like a dark sense of foreboding, a knowledge that something was coming, like . . . .

"Like someone's walking on your grave?" a female voice suggested.

Egon nearly jumped a mile, startled by both the unexpected voice and the fact that she was finishing his unspoken thoughts. He whirled around to see a petite, almost pixyish figure hovering a few inches above the floor beside him. Her blonde hair was piled in ringlets on top of her head, and luminous grey eyes shone up at Egon as he watched her cautiously. A faint mist surrounded her, and though she might have had a human appearance, Egon knew-even without a meter-that this was no Class Three. The fact that she was Hobbit-sized but didn't look remotely childlike only confirmed that. "Who are you?"

"My name is Madame Leela," she answered, her voice melodious but not so much so that she sounded as though she were speaking in singsong. "I am advisor and companion to the spirits. Whom do you seek?"

"I wasn't seeking anyone in particular," Egon told her.

"Nonsense," she insisted. "Whom do you seek?"

Her opening question might have been casual, but it didn't look like Madame Leela operated that way routinely. Or perhaps she was putting on an act now. When dealing with otherworldly creatures, it was always hard to tell. It was undoubtedly best to play along with Leela on her terms for now. "I do not seek an individual, Madame Leela. I seek knowledge. Answers."

She smiled at that. "Your quest for knowledge never ends; it will give you the strength to help your friends."

"What's going to happen to them?" Egon demanded.

"Dark days lie ahead," Leela intoned, "days filled with fear, longing, and dread."

"What's going to happen?" Egon repeated, concern for his friends growing.

Leela regarded Egon a long moment, then moved ahead of him, then nodded at the door at the end of the hallway. Though she had a full torso, including legs, Leela didn't exactly walk; she sort of floated instead. "Come with me and I'll show you."

Misty led Ray and Winston into what appeared to be the attic, then seemed to vanish into one of the many boxes on the floor.

"Where'd she go?" Winston wondered.

"Maybe we're where she needs us to be, so she left," Ray guessed. The occultist bit his lip thoughtfully. "Whatever she needs us to see or do has got to be here."

"The attic?" Winston sounded vaguely doubtful, then seemed to give in. "We've seen stranger things before. I guess it couldn't hurt to take a look around."

Ray was beginning to do exactly that when a large portrait caught his eye. "Winston! Come look at this!" It was framed, and propped up against a wall as though it had been taken down from elsewhere in the mansion-though the dust collecting on the frame indicated that had been long ago. The portrait was of a woman; she was sitting on a couch much like the ones they'd seen upstairs. The deep blue color of her gown helped to bring out her eyes; long red hair cascaded over her shoulders. She looked like Janine.

"Whoa." Winston had apparently picked up the resemblance too. "Take away the glasses and she looks just like . . . ."

"I know," Ray finished. He paused to examine the portrait more closely. "It's not exact-the jawline's slightly different-her nose, too-but, wow. Other than that, she could be Janine's twin."

"They say everyone in the world has a double," Winston offered. "Looks like we've found hers."

Ray was about to reply when he was cut off by the sound of Anna's voice from behind them. "What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here." Her tone held more worry than anger.

"We followed Misty-er, the ghost, a ball of light-up here," Ray explained. "We didn't mean any harm."

The maid looked no less concerned. "I see. But you really shouldn't be here."

Charles stepped out from behind a stack of boxes and joined her. "She's right! We don't mind, ourselves, but others might view you as trespassers-and that wouldn't turn out very well at all."

Ray smiled at the understanding that the two were concerned for their safety, rather than the actual fact that Ray and Winston were in the attic. "Okay, we'll be going. Thanks." Curiousity overwhelmed him, though, and he had to ask one question before they left the attic. He pointed to the portrait. "Who's that?"

"Don't worry about it," Charles advised. "It's nothing you need to be concerned with."

"It _is_ their concern!" Anna argued. "They're involved."

_Involved?_ Ray thought. _With what? Since when? _"What are we involved with?"

Anna's eyes widened as rustling noises on the other end of the attic announced the presence of another person. "Hide!" she whispered, the word barely more than a hiss.

Given Charles's prior warning, Ray and Winston were quick to comply. Ray ducked under a table, pulling a blanket over himself, and Winston squeezed in beside him, borrowing a portion of the blanket as well. Ray stifled a grin as the actions brought back an old memory of hiding from one of his foster brothers this way. Of course, Ray had been eleven and Paul had only been four, giving Ray the definite advantage when it came to hide-and-seek. _They were definitely one of the nicer families I ended up staying with._

Ray's smile faded, however, as Ripley's voice carried to them, even underneath the blanket. "The other Ghostbusters are not in their rooms. Have you seen them?"

"No, sir," Anna lied. "I don't know where they are."

"We'll let you know if we find them," Charles volunteered.

"See that you do," Ripley instructed. "She wasn't supposed to bring them, you know. I specifically told her to come alone. Was that too much to ask?"

"Not at all, sir," Charles answered.

"I suppose the others might not have been so bad," Ripley allowed, "but that Dr. Venkman! If I had to listen to another moment of his drivel . . . . I suppose he will prove useful, though, if only marginally." Another pause. "I suppose I should attend to the arrangements. Do let me know if you should see any of the others."

"Yes, sir," Anna and Charles chorused.

After a couple of moments, most likely while Ripley left the attic, the blanket covering Winston and Ray was pulled away and they were able to see Charles and Anna kneeling before them.

"Are you two all right?" Anna asked.

"Yeah," Winston assured her, "I'm okay. How about you, Ray?"

"I'm fine." It occurred to Ray that he had never gotten an answer about the identity of the woman in the portrait. Did it have anything to do with the arrangements Ripley had mentioned, and the reason he had wanted Janine to come by herself? Why was he so concerned with knowing where everyone was? Ray had a feeling that there was far more to this bust than they'd originally thought. "So, uh, who's the lady in the picture?"

"Her name was Rebekah," Anna informed them.

"Does she have anything to do with all of this?" Winston asked.

Charles looked around cautiously. "I think we'd better go someplace a little safer to talk. As long as you're involved in this, there are a few things you ought to know." He headed toward the door to the attic. "Follow me."

William had grown remarkably reminiscent as he told Janine Rebekah's story-he must have heard it often as a child. He told her how Rebekah had grown up as a poor servant girl, but she'd caught the eye of the heir to the mansion, William's grandfather.

"He took her in, gave her everything her heart desired," William continued. "She was very much in love with him. He, of course, loved her more than life itself."

"What happened?" Janine asked hesitantly. She wanted to hear more, but she had a feeling that this story didn't have a happy ending.

"She died," William said sadly. "It was here in this mansion, the night before they were to be married."

Janine gasped softly. "That's awful. How did she die?"

"She took her own life," William reported flatly. "Poison. By the time he found her, it was too late."

The lightning outside flashed, and for a brief moment, it was almost as though Janine could see a piece of the past. A man-he resembled William, from the brief glimpse Janine had of him-was carrying a woman's limp body in his arms, her face hidden against his chest. In the next instant, everything was back to normal. It had been so quick that Janine wasn't sure if it had been real, enabled by the entities haunting the mansion, or if she'd imagined it.

William went on with the story. "It was such a tragedy. She was so young, so beautiful."

"To lose someone like that, so unexpectedly . . . ." Janine began. "It must have been terrible, especially for your grandfather." She had faced the same prospect, more times than she wanted to consider, with her guys, and Janine was extremely grateful that she hadn't actually had to go through that yet.

William nodded. "He was devastated. There was a ball being held that night; they'd been dancing together only an hour before, and then she was gone. And so, having lost love, hope-Rebekah-he hung himself."

Janine's hand went to her mouth. "Oh, my." This was the stuff fiction was made of; Janine would never have expected the story to end that way. While tragic, it was also strangely romantic-a man who was willing to give everything up, even his own life, because of the woman he loved.

William lowered his voice, pulling Janine closer. "His soul still wanders these halls, searching for her. If you listen carefully, you can hear the beating of his broken heart."

Janine felt a cold shiver run down her spine. This was becoming the classic ghost story, and she'd been working for the Ghostbusters too long to brush such tales aside lightly. "Is he one of the ghosts you told us about?"

"Yes," William confirmed. "You can see why I had my reservations about your locking them in a containment facility."

"Of course." A part of Janine wondered how William could have ever existed, if his grandfather had committed suicide before he was able to marry the woman he loved. She figured that William's father must have been born before Rebekah came into the picture-a second marriage. It was something that could be addressed later. "We'll do everything we can to keep that from happening."

"I appreciate that." William watched Janine for a few seconds. "You know, that's her dress you're wearing."

Surprised, Janine looked down at the dress. "I'm sorry. I had no idea; they just gave it to me to put on. I-"

William cut her off. "No, no, it's perfectly all right. It suits you-and it's nice to have someone who can wear it again." He held out a hand to her. "Come, I'll show you the rest of the mansion."

Reluctantly, Janine shook her head. "I really should be getting back to the guys; we were supposed to meet up awhile ago. They're probably wondering where I am."

"In that case, we're sure to run into them at some point," William offered. "I'll take my leave and you can join them then."

"All right." It seemed like a good enough plan to Janine. After all, she really _did_ want to see the rest of the mansion-and maybe she could get some answers while she was at it.

"I love this job; I love the drama . . . ." Peter was still singing to himself as he poked his head into the library, only to find it unoccupied. He didn't love his job very much at the moment-and, besides, he'd been through the Wicked Witch's theme a good three or four times, at least the parts he recalled of it. It was time to switch songs. He'd just seen _Les Miserables _with a date the week before, but he didn't remember most of the lyrics to the songs. Besides, thinking of _Les Miz_ would eventually bring him around to thinking of "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables", and that was not a thought he wanted to consider for long. Or at all.

"Okay, so musicals are out," Peter sighed. "Come on, guys, where are you? Dr. Venkman doesn't like it when you hide from him like this."

Peter began to hum a made-up tune for a little while as he continued his search of the first floor. If he didn't find anything, he'd go back up to the second in a few minutes. After a brief perusal of the songs stored in his mental database, Peter settled on one that he'd have died before admitting he actually knew every word to.

"It's not that easy being green . . . ."

Leela, whom Egon had decided must be some sort of otherworldly gypsy, quickly led Egon to the room at the end of the hall that she'd pointed out. "You must hurry; there's much to do and little time to do it in."

She was still rather formal, but at least she'd stopped speaking in rhyme. Egon wondered if she'd been doing that merely for effect. "What is it I have to do? And you still haven't told me what's going to happen to my friends."

"Around the old oak, down in the ground, you'll find the thing that must be found."

All right, so she _hadn't_ stopped speaking in rhyme. "What must I find?"

"The key," Leela answered. "It is what you seek."

_Key?_ Egon shook his head. "I'm not seeking any key. I said that I sought answers."

"The key _is_ the answer you seek," Leela said, as though it were truly that simple.

"What key?" Egon demanded.

"The key that will reveal the secrets of the past."

_So much for clarification_. Egon was just about to ask-again-what was going to happen to his friends, when Leela reached down, scooping up some of the mist around her, and formed it into a ball with her hands. She regarded the ball for a few seconds before tossing it aside; it dissipated into nothingness. Leela took a step closer to Egon. "Great peril lies ahead. You must see to believe." The diminutive gypsy couldn't have been more than four feet tall, but she levitated high enough to allow herself to sit on the table behind them. It gave her enough height to be able to reach up and touch Egon's forehead. She began to chant, at first in tones too low for Egon to catch, then her voice rose slightly. "Now, together, we shall see visions of the things to be . . . ."

Egon's last conscious thought before being pulled into what felt like some sort of temporal warp was that he really wished she'd drop the rhymes.

"This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red . . . ." Peter was working his way through "I'm My Own Grandpa"-and he still hadn't found any of his friends yet. _This is getting really old really fast._

"Dr. Venkman?"

Peter sighed at the now-familiar voice. At least Ripley had announced himself first this time, rather than sneaking up beside Peter and scaring the crap out of him. "Yes?"

"You're needed in the master's study," Ripley told him.

_This guy has a library __and__ a study? Talk about upper-class._ "Okay, just tell me where to go. Hey, have you seen any of the other Ghostbusters? I was supposed to meet them awhile ago and I haven't been able to find them."

"Your Miss Melnitz is with the master," Ripley reported, and under other circumstances, Peter would have been tempted to make a sarcastic and completely uncalled for comment speculating on what they might have been doing. Now, he only wanted to get to the bottom of whatever was happening.

"What about the guys?" Peter asked.

"I haven't seen them." The butler didn't exactly look happy about that fact. "Come with me; I'll show you to the study."

_Where __are__ they? _Peter wondered. He didn't have much choice about going to the study, it seemed, though he'd have preferred to continue to look for his companions. "All right-lead the way." _This had better be quick._ Peter wasn't entirely convinced that, wherever they were, his friends hadn't found trouble.

Egon found himself assailed by a flood of images, all in rapid succession. The images folded and fell over and around each other; at first, it was impossible to make sense of anything. It wasn't only images, either. There were things Egon hadn't been explicitly shown, but he suddenly just _knew_. It all tumbled around in his mind, finally straightening itself out into something comprehensible. Had he been able to think straight, Egon might have been amazed at Leela's ability to allow him to see into the future, but all Egon _could_ focus on was that future itself.

Janine and Peter were walking together; she was wearing a wedding gown. She was getting married. Were those tears streaming down her cheeks? They didn't look like happy tears. Janine _should_ have been happy . . . . Wait, were they still in the mansion? What was going on? Then Janine was falling, collapsing to the floor. Ray dove to catch her, but was a second too late. What was wrong? Then, Peter was holding her, cradling Janine's limp body to his chest. His eyes were far too bright, shimmering with tears yet to be shed. Janine was lying far too still; her color was much too pale. Oh, God, she was dead. Egon's heart twisted with the realization.

They all took the loss pretty hard, but Peter especially. He was inconsolable for days after Janine's death, though it was hard to tell from his outward appearance. As was Peter's way, he protected himself with a camouflage of other emotions, notably anger. Time went on, and Peter seemed to become lost in the guilt he felt over his inability to prevent what had happened. His friends should have noticed much sooner, but they were all trying to handle things in their own way. They couldn't talk Peter out of his guilt, couldn't make him see sense, and he usually lashed out at them when they tried. Hurting as they already were, they gave up far too easily. Seeing it from the outside, knowing what would happen, Egon wanted to jump in and give himself and his friends a wake-up call, but he could do nothing, only watch-and know what happened later.

Peter was far too distractible in those days; his inner turmoil occupied a great deal of his time. Distraction at a key moment could prove fatal in their line of work, however, and it did for Peter. He never saw the demon preparing to turn its attack on him. By the time the others shouted warnings, it was too late.

Though it hadn't actually happened yet, Egon was shaken to the core; he wanted to erase the knowledge from his mind. He wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. Of _course_ Janine's death hadn't been Peter's fault; Egon couldn't conceive any situation in which it might have been. Why hadn't they been able to make him see that? They'd failed him, and the ultimate price had been paid. Less than two months after they'd lost Janine, Peter had followed her to the grave.

Egon watched, mentally protesting, as he retreated into his lab, Winston retreated into the fictional world of his mysteries, and Ray retreated into himself. Ray fell into a spiraling depression following Peter's death, and the others weren't doing much better. They each blamed themselves for what had happened.

Egon hadn't wanted to think about it, but he'd always been sure that, with the proper support, should they lose one of the team, they could survive it. It wouldn't be easy or pleasant, but if they banded together, they could do it. They hadn't, though, in this dismal future, and they'd suffered two losses so close together. Egon doubted the survivors would ever recover fully, in this case. Some hurts went too deep. They might live on, but they would never be the same. Egon didn't even want to guess at what would happen to the Ghostbusters; he was glad that knowledge hadn't been granted to him.

As quickly as he'd been drawn into whatever state it was that had allowed him to experience these visions, Egon was pulled out of it. He looked directly at Leela. "Tell me-is this what _will_ happen, or can it be changed?"

"Don't throw Dickens at me," Leela protested, hopping off the table she'd perched herself on. "I never was a big fan. Next thing I know, you'll be quoting _Great Expectations_."

It was becoming quite clear to Egon that Leela was completely unpredictable, and he was glad that she appeared to be on their side. "You didn't answer the question."

"Only the past is set in stone," Leela said, reverting to what Egon was starting to think of as her 'mystical gypsy' mode. "The future can be changed, but _you_ must change it. Find the key. Save your friends. Save yourself."

"Where is this key?" Egon asked. He'd do anything to prevent the future he'd seen from coming to pass, no matter what it was.

"In the crypt. Find the key, and bring it here. Soon, all things will be quite clear."

Egon figured that the crypt she spoke of must have been in the cemetery they'd seen in back of the mansion. Leela had mentioned an old oak tree before; they had to be close together. Of course, the first order of business was to get out so that he _could_ venture into the cemetery. Knowing that there was little time to waste, Egon spun about and ran out the door and down the hall. There had to be a way out. It was simply a matter of finding it.

Winston and Ray listened, intrigued, as Charles and Anna told the tale of what had happened in the mansion so many years ago-the story of William and Rebekah, and the curse that had fallen on the mansion afterwards.

"No one's been able to rest since," Anna explained. "We've all been trapped, doomed to wander the earth until the curse is broken."

"How do we break the curse?" Ray asked.

"I don't know," Charles admitted. "Mr. Ripley's had some ideas, which is why you all were called here. The gypsy knows more."

"Gypsy?" Winston echoed. "What gypsy?"

"Madame Leela," Anna said. "She's been here for ages, longer than we have. I don't think she's bound; she seems to come and go as she pleases."

_Great,_ Winston thought, _a ghost gypsy. I hope she's friendly._ "I may regret asking this, but what's Ripley's plan?"

Anna seemed to hesitate before providing, "To reunite the master with his lost love."

Ray glanced around them, as though expecting to see another ghost in the room with them. It was a little hard to believe that Anna and Charles-as well as Ripley and Edwards-were ghosts. They didn't leave a slime trail. Of course, not all ghosts were as messy as Slimer. "Is Rebekah here, too?"

"Oh, no," Anna reported. "At least, we haven't seen her yet. But Madame Leela said that one day she would return and the curse would be broken."

"Maybe she's around here and she hasn't manifested yet," Ray speculated. He turned to Winston, his eyes shining with excitement. "Winston, we've got to help them!"

Before joining the Ghostbusters, Winston would have undoubtedly protested that the dead were beyond help. That seemed to be the nature of being dead. However, he had seen far too much during his years with the team to allow himself to believe that now. Though the majority of the spooks the Ghostbusters dealt with had never been alive, the team _had_ helped the dead, many times. Trapping and containing a human spirit was generally reserved for when all other measures had failed. "Yeah, but what can we do? Sounds like we've got to break this curse before they can move on, but we're not sure exactly what kind of curse it is-and sounds like Ripley's already got his own ideas. If Rebekah's hanging around here and all we have to do is get her and Edwards together, it's probably best to sit back and let Ripley do his thing."

"But if that were all," Ray began, "then why would we even have to _be_ here? Unless . . . ." The occultist's jaw dropped open and he quickly clapped a hand over it. "Oh, no. That'd be _awful_!"

"What?" There were times that Winston felt a sudden urge to grab Ray by his collar and hang on until Ray provided details about whatever thoughts were bouncing around in his head. This was one of those times, but Winston managed to restrain himself and settled for asking, "All right, Ray, give. What are you thinking?"

"They don't know if Rebekah's here," Ray reminded him. "But Ripley's got a plan to get her and Edwards back together, and it apparently needed us here to work."

"Right," Winston agreed. "What was your point?"

"Janine!" Ray exclaimed. "Ripley wanted her to come alone. I bet it was so there wouldn't be anyone else to interfere! Janine looks almost exactly like Rebekah, remember?"

Winston was finally able to follow Ray's train of thought-and he didn't like it at all. "You think Ripley wants to use Janine as a sort of stand-in for Rebekah?"

"He told us that it was her," Charles volunteered. "He said that she'd finally returned to us, like the gypsy prophesized."

Clearly, a few facts needed to be straightened out. Winston shook his head. "Oh, no-she's not Rebekah. Her name's Janine. She's our secretary."

"And if it's reincarnation he's thinking of," Ray pointed out, "it doesn't work quite like that. The dates would be totally off, too." Trust it to Ray to think of that, not that it wasn't helpful.

Neither Anna nor Charles seemed to know what to make of this.

"We should ask Madame Leela," Anna suggested after a moment.

"Good idea." Charles nodded. "Where is she?"

Anna shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. We should look for her."

"Will this take long?" Winston asked. There didn't seem to be a lot of time to waste, only for this mysterious gypsy to tell them that Janine wasn't Rebekah.

"It shouldn't," Anna promised. "Madame Leela is very good about finding those who seek her."

_Let's hope so,_ Winston thought, as he and Ray rose from their chairs to follow Anna and Charles out of the room.

"Egon!" The physicist was making his way down yet another of what seemed like an endless series of hallways when he heard the blessedly familiar voice.

Egon's face split into a grin as he turned and saw Ray and Winston hurrying toward him. The fact that Charles and Anna were accompanying them was inconsequential to him at that point; Egon was still somewhat shaken by the visions he'd seen of the future and needed some tangible proof that his friends were all right, at least for now. "Ray! Winston!"

Ray's smile matched Egon's own. "Boy, are we ever glad to see you!"

"The feeling's quite mutual," Egon assured them. "Where are Peter and Janine?"

Ray spread his hands in front of him helplessly. "I don't know, but we've got to find them. Janine's in trouble!"

Egon nodded gravely. "So's Peter." At least he would be if the events that had already been set in motion were carried out to their tragic conclusion. Of course, if, heaven forbid, Janine didn't survive, they would at least be forewarned now to watch out for Peter, keep a close eye on him. But if forewarning wasn't enough to save Janine, would it be enough to save Peter? Egon had always loved to play with theoretical situations, speculate on various potential outcomes, but that had always been when it _was_ theory, not personal. This time, the stakes were far too high for Egon's liking. "I agree that we need to find them, but in order to do that, we must find our way out. We need to find a key. I came across a gypsy-like creature who told me that this key was the answer we were searching for."

"The gypsy!" Anna's voice raised nearly an octave in pitch. "You've seen Madame Leela?"

"Yes-she appears to be willing to help us out, to a point."

"That's Madame Leela, for sure," Anna confirmed. "She's friendly, but she does tend to make people work for the solutions to their problems."

"I don't mind working for it if we've got some idea of what it is we're actually doing." Winston crossed his arms over his chest. "Right now, all we know is that Pete and Janine are in trouble, we're looking for a key that will somehow help, and we have to get out of here. This gypsy obviously knows a lot more about it all. I say we go ahead, find her, and see if she can give us a little more to go on. Where'd _you_ find her, Egon?"

Egon sighed. "I didn't find her, exactly. She found me. As for where that happened, it was in one of these halls, though I'm not entirely sure which one anymore. I'd recognize it if I saw it, but I've become quite turned around in my attempts to find an exit, or at least the passageway that led me here."

"You need a guide." There it was again, that melodic feminine voice. Leela was back.

"Yes." Egon knelt so that he didn't tower over her quite so much. "We want to help our friends, but we'll need your guidance. Where do we find the crypt that you told me about, the one the key is in?"

"Follow the path of the dead into the ground," Leela intoned. "A lone crypt, it bears no name. There you'll find the key."

"'The path of the dead, into the ground,'" Ray repeated. "You mean, like a mausoleum?"

It made perfect sense, and Egon wondered why he hadn't put that together before. He'd been taking "crypt", singular, far too literally. Mausoleums held crypts, after all.

Leela confirmed Ray's theory. "Yes. Turn past the oak; you'll find it there. An inscription on the door warns all to beware."

"Let's do it, then." Winston looked around them, as though taking in the surroundings. "How do we get out?"

"Follow me." Smiling serenely, Leela slipped through the nearest door. Anna and Charles immediately moved to go after her, though they paused before actually going through the door. Anna gave the door a suspicious glance, then reached for the doorknob. Apparently, they weren't entirely comfortable with passing through solid objects. Many human ghosts weren't.

As Egon walked into the room, Ray and Winston trailing him, he couldn't help but wonder what would be in this room that would aid their leaving the mansion. It looked like a receptacle for who-knows-what. There were all sorts of items, all over the room, most looking as though they'd simply been shoved in there.

Leela signaled for Ray's attention, then pointed out the room's window. "Can you drive one of those things?"

Ray hurried over to look. "Well, I did once, sort of. I wasn't exactly in control then, but I'm sure I could figure it out. Wow, guys. Get over here! You've got to see this; it's _great_!"

When they joined him, Egon and Winston were both able to see what had gotten Ray so excited. Down on the ground below-a good three floors down, to be exact-there was a horse-drawn carriage waiting. There was even a horse hitched up to it. Granted, the horse looked as though it were glowing, surrounded by an ethereal type of light, so it was more than likely a ghost, too. Egon was somewhat less fascinated by the ghostly horse, probably a Class Six, than he might have been any other time. _I think that we're perhaps the only living creatures in this place._

The storm that had forced them to stay in the mansion overnight had passed. Oddly enough, the cemetery didn't seem to be flooded, as the roads were-but, then, it was on higher ground. The horse and carriage would provide transportation; the cemetery was a large one. The trick would be getting down there.

"You must hurry," Leela urged. "There's no time to lose."

"How do we get there?" Egon asked.

Leela gestured to the window, as though it should have been obvious.

"Bingo!" Winston looked out the window again. "There's a balcony on the second floor. If we're careful about how we fall, it should be easy to land on." He moved to open the window, but found that it was stuck. "Damn." But Winston had never been one to accept defeat easily. A smile crossed his face, and he snatched up the broom that was propped up against the wall, settling it into his hands. "We're getting out of here." In one quick, fluid motion, he swung the broom handle at the window, and the pane of glass cracked in a spider-web pattern. Seconds later, it appeared to fix itself. "What?" Winston swung again. The glass cracked on impact-but, again, soon looked as though it had never been touched.

"The glass won't break!" Ray protested, exchanging a bewildered glance with Winston.

Egon's glasses had begun to slide down the bridge of his nose; he pushed them back up impatiently. "I don't understand-it defies all known laws of physics!" Not that traditional physics were much of a constraint where the paranormal was concerned.

"Why not?" Leela asked, floating over to hover a few inches above the floor beside Winston. "They're terribly inconvenient." She reached up to put one hand on the window frame. It glowed briefly. Leela turned her head to wink at the guys, then pushed the bottom pane of the window up as Winston had attempted to earlier. This time, it slid open easily. "There you go. Have a nice trip and all that. Be careful."

The window was large enough that the three men wouldn't have much trouble climbing out of it-the problem was in where they were going to go from there. Egon hadn't exactly embraced heights prior to his fall from the World Trade Center several years before, but in the time since, he'd been somewhat leery of them. It definitely wasn't to the point that it could be classified as true acrophobia, merely something that made him think twice-what Peter defined as "an instinct for self-preservation." The drop from the window to the second-floor balcony didn't look like a bad one, though; the balcony was directly below the window. Of course, when their friends' lives were at stake, Egon would have attempted a farther fall than that had it been necessary. The team had always operated under an "all for one and one for all" mentality; it had served them well.

Climbing out the window was easy. Convincing himself to release the windowsill he was dangling from was a little harder, but it had to be done. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Egon sneaked one more glance at the balcony, and let go.

Ray could certainly understand the hesitation he saw as Egon, who'd insisted on going first, climbed out of the window and dropped onto the balcony. Even when making a safe landing was pretty much a sure thing, there was something disconcerting about willingly letting oneself fall from a third-story window. Especially after the fall Egon had taken awhile back. Ray generally tried not to think about that. They'd come way too close to losing him-and if what Egon said was correct, not only was Janine's life at stake now, but Peter's was, too. Egon hadn't said how he knew-and didn't seem to want to talk about it-but Ray trusted him and he knew Winston did, too. Trust had never been a problem among them.

Ray watched as Winston followed Egon's lead and landed safely on the balcony. Egon helped Winston to his feet-and then they both looked up, waiting for Ray. He tossed off a wave to them, then began to climb out the window.

Ray had never had a problem with heights beyond his lack of inclination to, say, jump off a cliff or something blatantly stupid like that. In fact, he was secretly thinking that this particular drop might be kind of fun. Once they took their own heights into account, the fall was actually only a few feet. Pointing this out to his friends wouldn't have been exceedingly helpful, however, so Ray had kept it to himself.

Ray landed on the balcony, rolling into the fall. None of them had landed gracefully, but they were uninjured beyond a few bruises, and that was the important thing.

"You okay?" Winston asked.

Ray nodded. "I'm fine. You both all right?"

"Yes," Egon responded.

"I'm okay, too," Winston said. His eyes scanned the balcony. "Now we need figure out where to go from here."

After a few minutes, they were able to determine that the best way to proceed would be to climb from the balcony to the nearby tree and climb from the tree to the ground. As soon as they were on the ground, the three men hurried to the waiting carriage. Winston and Egon climbed into the carriage itself; Ray headed for the front to take the reins. They weren't sure if Leela had intended for Ray to be the one to steer in asking him if he'd ever done it before, but they didn't want to take any chances by having someone else drive.

Ray quickly found that, like the previous time he'd held the reins, he had no actual control; the ghostly horse and its possessed carriage were running the show. It was just as well. There wasn't time for Ray to waste in learning how to steer properly, and he didn't know where to go, anyhow. They were looking for a mausoleum near an old oak tree. In this cemetery, full of both old oaks and mausoleums, that was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

There were ghosts everywhere, all around them, carrying on as if they were unaware that they had company. They were all involved in different activities, as though doomed to repeat those actions until the curse than had fallen over Edwards Manor was lifted. _They probably are_, Ray mused, smiling. _Who'd have thought? So many repeaters all in one place!_ If he'd had the time, he'd have been analyzing the situation much more thoroughly. Hopefully, they _would_ have the time later. Or perhaps, when they found the key that they were looking for, whatever the key opened would hold the necessary clue to help them break the curse.

Eventually, the horse stopped and wouldn't go any further. Ray looked at Egon and Winston behind him. "Guess this is the end of the line."

"Looks like it," Winston agreed. "I hope this mausoleum is close."

Egon reached for the carriage's door. "So do I."

"There's an oak tree over there," Ray pointed out, motioning toward the tree in question. He winked at his friends. "It looks pretty old."

"Hey, we've gotta start somewhere," Winston said, walking in the direction of the tree. "I seem to recall something about taking a left. Let's go this way."

His companions followed him without arguing. After all, when they didn't have the PKE meters to guide them, Winston was the least directionally challenged one of the group. Ray and Egon preferred to be armed with a map; Peter insisted that maps hated him because he was forever getting lost when trying to find someplace new.

They hadn't walked far before they came upon an imposing-looking structure; it was definitely a mausoleum, but was it the one they were looking for? Ray was the first to amble up the steps, trying not to further attract the attention of the ghosts watching them. He read the inscription on the door. "I think this is it! There's an inscription on the door, in Latin." Egon would be able to read it easily, but Ray read it aloud in English for Winston's benefit. "'Beware to those who enter: here lies the path of the dead.'" He grinned as Egon and Winston came up beside him. "The gypsy was talking about the path of the dead. This has to be it!"

"There's one thing I still don't understand," Winston told them. "If this key is so important, why is it even _in_ here? Wouldn't they need it? I can see that it might have been buried with someone, if it opened something important to them, but why would that thing be important to us?"

"We'll have to ask Madame Leela once we obtain it and return to the mansion," was Egon's reply. He reached for a torch held by one of the statues guarding the door. It was already lit, as though waiting for them to come along and venture inside the tomb.

Egon's hands tightened around the torch. "I'll go inside. You two stay out here; stay together. I shouldn't be too long."

Ray shook his head. "Egon, we all should stay together."

"There's no reason to risk all three of us," Egon argued. "If anything should happen to me, I'll need you to be able to help."

It made a sort of sense, but Ray still wasn't crazy about letting Egon go in there alone. "Be careful, Egon."

Winston echoed the sentiment. "Yeah, man, you stay safe in there."

"I intend to," Egon assured them. He handed Ray the torch while he opened the heavy latch on the door and pulled the door open, then took the torch again. "I'll see you shortly, as soon as I find the key."

Ray reached out to squeeze Egon's upper arm briefly, forcing himself to smile.

Egon smiled back at him; this smile was one that he reserved for his closest friends alone. "I'll be careful." With that promise, he turned away from them, heading into the mausoleum and down its steps.

Though Egon had never struggled with a fear of death or of being around the dead, the atmosphere of the mausoleum was making him vaguely nervous. He had always taken warnings, especially those in ancient languages, seriously. The paintings on the wall, depicting guardians bearing an impressive arsenal of weaponry, the dim lighting even after igniting the wall torches, and the coffins stacked in catacombs all around wouldn't have been nearly as intimidating if the inscription outside hadn't been there.

When Egon finally reached the bottom of the staircase, he found that it led to an open room, more catacombs lining every wall-save for the lone crypt in the center of the room on a raised platform. The platform was surrounded by a small moat, a short bridge leading to it. The crypt was unmarked; it had to be the one Leela had been telling them about.

As Egon stepped onto the bridge, he heard a voice behind him. "Say, you think that one's it?"

Egon jumped, spinning about to see Winston standing on the second step from the bottom of the staircase. "Winston! You scared me."

Winston held out his hands apologetically. "Sorry, man."

Egon pinned the other man with a stare. "Where's Ray? I asked you to stay with him!"

"He's outside," Winston explained. "He'll be fine. Ray's a big boy, and none of those ghosts in the graveyard seemed to be interested in causing a lot of trouble. You, on the other hand . . . ."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," Egon defended.

"Oh, I know you are. But Ray wasn't gonna relax unless I came down and checked on you. He'd have come down here if I hadn't volunteered. He says that they probably didn't put that warning on the door for nothing, and that we should be on the lookout for anything strange." Winston looked around. "Though, for most people, this alone might qualify. Why'd I have to answer that ad you guys ran?"

Egon caught the tease in the question easily. "There are days I wonder why I let myself go along with the whole idea in the first place instead of doing the intelligent thing and finding a nice, safe research facility somewhere." _Like today._

"Yeah, but you tried that once when things got slow and we needed money," Winston reminded him. "You hated it, remember?"

Egon shrugged. "What can I say? It's hard to go back to a merry-go-round after riding the roller coaster."

Winston chuckled. "That's the truth. It's been a hell of a ride, hasn't it?"

"It certainly has." Egon sighed, looking at the crypt ahead of them. "I suppose we should get this over with."

"Yeah." Winston took a few quick steps to catch up with Egon, and together they crossed the bridge to the platform the crypt rested on. "Wow, the lid on this thing looks heavy. Of course, I don't think they ever expected that someone would come along and open it, either."

_He has a point, _Egon thought, setting the torch in a holder near the end of the bridge. He reached forward to push the lid from the top of the crypt. It _was_ heavy, and he was grateful for Winston's help. With the two of them working together, they were able to push the lid free in a couple of minutes. It fell to the floor with a loud clatter, and the rotten stench of death rushed out at them. Egon shielded his nose and mouth with one arm to keep from gagging. Beside him, Winston was doing the same.

"Oh, man." Winston's eyes were watering, and Egon blinked the tears from his own eyes. It was a smell they'd encountered before, but that made it no less unpleasant. "That's one smell I'd just as soon not experience again."

Egon quite agreed. Once the initial shock passed, he'd recovered enough to focus on his task again. The body had definitely begun to decay, but wasn't a complete skeleton yet, preserved partially by the environment inside the crypt. It was impossible to tell if the person had been male or female, or whether the tattered remains of navy cloth had once been a suit or a dress. The key was tucked underneath the corpse's arm, and Egon drew in a deep breath before reaching out to grasp the top of the key. "Excuse me." Very carefully, trying to disturb as little as possible, he worked the key loose, wiping it off on his pants. It was a skeleton key, which seemed perfectly appropriate under the circumstances. "Got it."

"All right." Winston gestured back toward the bridge. "Let's get out of here."

"I'm all for that." Egon picked up the torch and followed him, but then paused as he heard a noise behind him. His mouth opened soundlessly as he saw that the corpse was now sitting up in its crypt, its head turning to look directly at them. The fact that it had no eyes, only sockets, made it no less unsettling. "Winston . . . ."

Winston paused as Egon said his name, and turned. His eyes widened. "Um, Egon . . . ."

Egon didn't want to panic unnecessarily, but zombies were nothing to take lightly. When the body climbed out of the crypt and began making its way toward them, he decided that was a definite cause for concern. _Time to hit the limited panic button._ "Let's get out of here. Now."

Zombies might not have been at the absolute bottom of Winston's list of creatures he wanted to deal with, but they were very close. The entire concept undermined nearly everything he'd been taught growing up, but so had a great deal of other things he'd seen in his time with the Ghostbusters.

"Let's get out of here," Egon said, glancing from Winston to the zombie and back. "Now."

Winston had no problem complying with that idea, and turned back toward the steps. Egon watched for a moment, then began to head for the stairs himself.

The zombie, however, had other plans, and lunged for Egon. The physicist was a second too slow in jumping away, and stumbled, dropping the key in the process. Winston paused on the steps, watching to see if Egon was all right, silently urging him to pick the key up. Egon bent down to scoop the key from the ground, but it slipped between the wrought iron designs of the bridge. Winston heard Egon's soft, "Shit."

Though Winston had never been extraordinarily disposed toward the use of foul language, he agreed-and was somewhat surprised that Egon hadn't picked something stronger. This was what Peter would have classified as a Very Bad Situation.

Egon threw a desperate look over his shoulder. "Winston, get the key!"

Winston, glad to have something to do, prepared to step into the moat surrounding the platform. He hoped it wouldn't be too deep. "You gonna be okay?"

Egon held the torch in front of him like a weapon. "I'll be fine. Get the key!"

Winston nodded, and stepped off the edge of the walkway, into the water. Fortunately, the water was only waist-deep. He waded through the moat to the area where the key had fallen, looking into the water to see if he could locate it. The water was murky, but not completely opaque.

The sounds of a scuffle continued on the bridge above, but Egon seemed to be holding his own, so Winston continued to search for the key. He wasn't finding it, and there seemed to be only one option left. "I _really_ don't want to do this." He took a deep breath, and knelt down to put his head under the water. The key was there, under the bridge, and just out of visual range from above the water. _I hope that key is worth this._ Winston snatched the key and returned to the surface-just as Egon managed to swing the torch at the zombie, knocking its head into the water. The decapitated body crumpled to the ground, and Egon smirked triumphantly. Winston couldn't help a small smile of his own as Egon hurried around to the walkway and held a hand out to help Winston climb out. "Maybe these guys will think twice before trying to come back from the dead next time, huh?"

That earned him an amused smile. "I should hope so."

Winston ran a hand over his hair, trying to remove the excess water from it. "They ought to know better than to mess with a couple of Ghostbusters." A faint rumbling caught Winston's attention, and he glanced behind him cautiously. Several of the coffins were shaking in their catacombs, the lids opening to reveal more zombies. "On the other hand, some people never learn. You got any ideas, Egon?"

"Yes," Egon confirmed. "Run!"

That sounded like a good plan to Winston. They both scrambled for the stairs, the zombies gaining ground behind them. Although Egon usually hid his true feelings behind a cool, composed expression, he looked terrified. Winston was sure he didn't look much better. One zombie, the two of them could handle, but twenty or thirty? They were dead meat, no pun intended.

It was a long staircase, but they made their way up it in record time, spurred on by knowing they were in a lot of trouble if they didn't. Winston made a mental note to pay more attention next time they came across a Latin warning on anything. _I knew there was a reason I've never liked Latin._

Ray was waiting for them on the other side of the doorway, urging them to hurry. He must've seen the zombies too. Just when Winston was close enough to the top that he was considering jumping over the remaining stairs and through the doorway, the door slammed shut unexpectedly.

"Hey!" Winston pounded on the door. "Ray, open the door!"

"I'm trying!" came the reply from the other side. "The lock slammed shut; I've got to get it open."

"Well, try a little faster!" Winston knew that Ray was doing everything he could, as fast as he could, because that was who Ray was and what he did, but when Winston was trapped inside a mausoleum with at least twenty zombies after him, he tended to get a little tense. "Egon? Please tell me you have a good scientific plan."

"None whatsoever." Egon backed up against the door as far as possible; the zombies weren't terribly fast, but they were at the bottom of the staircase and beginning to make their way up.

_That's comforting. Here we are, about to experience the ultimate in monster mashes, and the scientist is out of ideas._ "You scared?" Winston knew it was a dumb question, but at least it gave them something to talk about.

Egon raised an eyebrow, probably at the absurdity of the question, then shook his head. "No."

"You lying?"

"Like a rug." Egon sighed, then his eyes lit up with the look he often wore when inspired.

Winston was encouraged. "You think of something?" The zombies were about a quarter of the way up the steps.

Without pausing to provide details, Egon held out a hand toward the undead, commanding, "_Barra_!"

That wasn't what Winston had expected, and it didn't seem to have any effect on the zombies. "What was that?"

"Sumerian," Egon explained. "It means 'begone.'"

"It's not working."

"I'd noticed that. Perhaps they'd respond better to Latin."

It made sense to Winston. _After all, if the inscription on the door is Latin . . . ._ "Go for it." The zombies were halfway to them now. As an added touch of insurance, Winston banged on the door again.

"Almost there!" Ray called.

Egon took a deep breath, then shouted, "_Apage_!" Nothing happened.

"Was that 'begone' in Latin?" Winston guessed.

Egon nodded. "Yes. Maybe I should simply tell them to quit." He raised his voice again, saying, "_Defungo._" That didn't have any effect, either. "_Absit omen._"

"What did that last part mean?" Winston asked.

"'May the omen be absent.' It's a request for protection against evil."

That, they could definitely use. No matter what happened, Winston knew they'd go out fighting, but he wasn't looking forward to it. "Ray!"

"Got it!" As Ray spoke, the door swung open. Winston and Egon nearly set new land speed records in getting out, then they turned around to help Ray close the door. The zombies were close enough to reach for them now, and some were, their arms in the doorway. Under the weight of all three men, the door finally shut, cutting off one zombie's hand in the process. It twitched for a few seconds, then fell still. Ray and Winston held the door in place as Egon closed the lock. The zombies could still be heard on the other side of the door.

"Are you guys all right?" Ray demanded as soon as the door was locked.

"Yes, thank you." Egon brushed himself off.

"I'm okay, just stressed." Winston reached into his jacket pocket and produced the key. "But we've got this and that's what matters."

"No, what matters is that you two are okay," Ray argued, "but I'll take the key as a close second." He slung an arm over both their shoulders. "Come on, let's get back to the carriage so we can get this key to the gypsy and see what the big deal is."

William had brought Janine up to the attic, directing her attention toward a wedding gown hanging on a dressmaker's dummy. It was covered in plastic sheeting, but Janine could still see the intricacy and detail that gone into the dress's design. "This is beautiful."

"It would have been more beautiful if Rebekah ever worn it," William said sadly. "This was to have been her wedding dress. Now it serves only as a dark reminder of what might have been."

Janine reached out, laying a hand on the dummy's shoulder. Her fingers tightened around the plastic sheeting as she considered all she'd seen and heard that evening. William's fascination with Rebekah was almost unnatural-and then there were the issues concerning what had happened with William's grandfather. William hadn't once mentioned his own father, who would've had to have been left an orphan if the story had happened the way William had told it and still left it possible for William to even have been born. And why did William seem to be so wrapped up in his grandfather's time period, even to the point of denying himself many of life's modern conveniences? There were so many things that didn't make sense, and Janine had never been fond of things that didn't make sense. "And it's been kept here all this time?"

"No one's ever had the heart to put it away." William began guiding Janine toward the stairs that led back to the third floor. He didn't appear to be too keen on letting her explore the attic, which was remarkably different from his attitude in the other areas of the mansion. He'd been encouraging her to look around, to see the whole mansion. _Maybe there's a lot of personal stuff in here,_ she figured. That would make sense as an explanation, but Janine wasn't sure she bought it.

"Janine? Are you all right?" William asked. "You seem distant."

"I'm fine," Janine assured him. No need to alarm the man, at least not until she had figured a few things out.

William clasped her wrist in his hand, squeezing gently. "I'm glad."

Janine wasn't sure what possessed her to do it, but she twisted her hand around to wrap her fingers around William's wrist. Her fingertips lightly probed for the small groove in his wrist where she'd be able to find a radial pulse. There wasn't one.

If William realized what she was doing, he didn't give any indication, merely lifted his free hand and cupped Janine's cheek. "You're a very special woman, Janine."

"Thank you." Janine appreciated the praise, but she wasn't nearly as flattered by it as she'd been before. She copied William's gesture, touching his cheek briefly, then purposely allowed her hand to trail down his neck. Janine felt vaguely guilty about encouraging him, but she didn't know any other subtle way of checking again for a pulse. She had to know.

The carotid pulse was difficult to miss, unless it wasn't present, but Janine couldn't find one to save her life. She had to make a conscious effort to hide her surprise. This changed everything. Was it possible that William _was_ his grandfather? The idea at first sounded absurd, but the more Janine considered the evidence, the more it made sense. Had she spent all this time with a ghost? If so, what about the house staff? Did they know they were working for a ghost? Were they ghosts themselves? Did _William_ know he was a ghost, if he even was?

Every answer raised more questions. Janine sighed heavily, walking with William back to the first floor. She hadn't seen any sign of the guys yet, and that was something else concerning her. This bust was starting to lose its charm very quickly. Janine wanted nothing more than to finish it and go home. She wouldn't even bug Peter about the overtime . . . at least not right away. She'd give it a day or two first.

Some things, after all, were moral imperatives.

"We've gotta get out of this place, if it's the last thing we ever do . . . ."

Ripley had left Peter in the study, and hadn't been back since. No one else had been in, either. Peter found himself stretched out on the plush couch, staring at the ceiling, and singing again because he didn't have any better ideas.

_Five more minutes, and I'm outta here._ It had been well over half an hour since Peter had been left in the study, and he was beginning to get annoyed. It rang faintly of being corralled in so that Ripley could keep track of him. _Five minutes, that's it._

The clock showed that it was nearing midnight, a time Peter had often been told that all good little Ghostbusters should be in bed. But, since it could be argued that Peter was neither good nor little, he figured that he still had a couple of hours left in the night. It would appear that his friends did, too. Whatever had caught them up must have been fascinating, or it wouldn't have kept them so long. Of course, Peter still couldn't shake the feeling that the reason he hadn't found them was because they were in trouble, which was why he was only allowing another few minutes before he went in search of them again. Ripley probably wouldn't like it, but Peter didn't much care what the butler thought anymore. _That guy seems to have made it his life's mission to upset and disturb Dr. Venkman. Well, screw him. I've got better things to do. Like finding my friends, making sure they're safe, and then figuring out what it is we have to do here so that we can go home._

The door to the study creaked open, and Peter sat up. He was disappointed to see that it was Ripley; Peter had at least been able to communicate with Edwards. Of course, Janine seemed to be doing all the communicating with Edwards lately. Hopefully, she'd learned something important. Peter determined to find her before he resumed looking for the others. They'd probably be safer together, anyhow.

"Dr. Venkman, we're ready," Ripley announced.

"For what?" Peter asked.

"To prepare for the wedding," Ripley stated, as if it were that simple. A suit was draped over his arm, fancier than the one that Peter already wore. From what Peter could see, it looked like a tuxedo, at least one that belonged in the same time period as everything else in the mansion.

"Wedding?" Peter echoed. "Who's getting married?" He hadn't heard anything about any weddings.

Ripley looked eminently self-satisfied as he answered, "Tonight, William and his love will be reunited at last. After all these years, Rebekah has finally returned to Edwards Manor."

"Rebekah?" Peter frowned a little. "There's a _chick_ in here, too? I mean, I knew about Anna, but I think she and Charles are already married-they're wearing rings. Haven't seen any other women around; Rebekah been hiding?"

"She arrived tonight," Ripley said. "You know, Dr. Venkman, I was somewhat irritated by your presence at first. I thought you might interfere. But now I'm able to see that you do have your uses."

_Geez, talk about being damned with faint praise._ Peter turned on the full Venkman charm as he strolled across the room to stand in front of Ripley, not that he thought it would particularly impress the man. "So what use have you found for me? I think I'm a little too big to be the flower boy, but most anything else would work. I'm a flexible kind of guy."

Naturally, Ripley gave no sign of having appreciated the joke, but Peter hadn't expected him to. "You're going to give away the bride. Since her father is unavailable, we've elected to have her brother fulfill the duty."

"Her brother? I hate to break it to you, but you've got the wrong guy. I don't have any sisters; I'm definitely not her brother."

"Yet she thinks of you as one."

"How could she?" Peter was getting progressively more confused. "I've never _met_ this Rebekah! I didn't know she was even in the mansion until you mentioned her."

"But of course you've met her. You work with her."

"Listen, buddy, the only lady here that I work with is Janine, and she-" Peter didn't like where this was going. "Rebekah wouldn't happen to be a redhead, would she? About five-three, blue eyes?"

"You may call her what you wish," Ripley allowed. _Big of him,_ Peter thought sarcastically. "However, Miss Goldberg will marry the master tonight. We mustn't dally; time grows short."

"Melnitz," Peter corrected.

"Pardon?"

"Her last name's Melnitz," Peter clarified. "And she's not marrying anyone tonight. Sorry. That's not in our contract. We don't rent ourselves out for marriages-though if you'd like to find the real Rebekah, I could make you a sweet deal on space for the wedding reception back at our headquarters in Manhattan. Unless you want to have the whole thing here, which would really be best, given the space you have available." He was rambling, and well aware of it, but he was desperately trying to think of a way to get Janine-all of them, really-out of this nut's clutches. _I knew there was something hinky about this guy._

Ripley met Peter's eyes with a piercing gaze. "I'm afraid there's no choice. It has to be done. You agreed to come out here and free us, and this is the only way."

"Free you-you're a ghost?" Peter sputtered.

"Yes, all of us here are, Dr. Venkman. Surprise."

"Damn," Peter whispered. They didn't leave ectoplasm in their wake, and they'd been remarkably interactive, but some things would make a lot of sense if the mansion's occupants were in fact ghosts. "Then explain this to me. How is Janine supposed to marry this guy? He's dead and she's not!"

"That can be easily remedied. Life is so very fragile."

Anger sparked inside Peter, and he launched himself at the butler. "If you lay one hand on her-or _any_ of my friends!-I'll kill you." His voice was low and threatening.

Ripley wasn't fazed. "Lovely, you intend to kill a ghost. Good luck."

_Okay, that might be a problem._ Peter opted not to respond verbally; he instead continued to glare at Ripley, daring the ghost to cross him.

Ripley laid the suit he carried on the couch, smoothing it. "There's your clothing. I'll be back in fifteen minutes; I suggest you be ready."

"Or else what?" Peter challenged.

"Or else your friends might suffer the consequences." Leaving Peter with that to think about, Ripley turned and exited the room.

Peter sighed despairingly, dropping onto the couch and allowing his head to fall into his hands. _How did this get so screwed up so quickly?_

More importantly, how were they going to get out of it?

"Janine, do you believe that love is about hopes and dreams, second chances?" William paused in their stroll through the mansion's ballroom, watching Janine impassively as he waited for her answer.

"Yes," Janine told him, smiling. Even if he _was_ a ghost, he had some nice theories on things. "I do."

William's gaze never wavered from Janine. After a long moment, he finally asked, "You don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what?" What was she supposed to remember?

The question seemed to distress William; he shook his head and raked a hand through his hair. "I thought that surely showing you around the mansion, telling you the story, bringing you back to the place where we shared our last days, our last dance . . . . I thought it would help you remember!"

"Remember what?" Janine repeated, taking a step back. "You're starting to scare me."

"Scare you?" William echoed. "I'd never want to scare you. I love you, Rebekah!"

Janine gasped, her eyes widening. It was a moment before she trusted herself to speak. "I think I should be going now."

"Rebekah!" he called desperately as Janine began retreating toward the staircase to the second floor.

Janine paused long enough to shout back at him, "I'm not Rebekah!"

"But you must be! I was told you'd returned! Ripley, the gypsy-they both told me you would come back, and at last you have! I love you; I want to marry you!"

Janine was racing up the stairs, hoping he wouldn't follow. William seemed absolutely convinced that she was Rebekah, and it didn't look as if further argument would do any good. _This is getting way too weird. _She ran down the hallway and into her room, shutting the door and collapsing against it as she slid to the floor. Ghosts were one thing; ghosts that wanted to marry her were another matter entirely. Dimly, Janine realized that she was trembling, and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She hated feeling like this, hated hiding instead of dealing with a problem directly. But until she came up with a better plan, there didn't seem to be much else she could do.

Leela was waiting for Egon, Ray, and Winston on the back porch. She spared a moment from whatever she'd been doing to nod at them, then chanted, "Dark spirits from beyond rise and unite; we must survive this perilous night."

"Hey!" Winston protested. "Don't make any dark spirits come out! We've got enough problems as it is."

Leela didn't look terribly impressed by the outburst. "I didn't say I was _making_ them come, I said they _were_ coming." She shrugged. "The joys of linguistics."

"Whatever." Winston pulled the key from his pocket, holding it in front of him. "We went to hell and back to get this key-it had better be important."

"Oh, it is," Leela promised. "Now we must find the trunk."

"Trunk?" It was Egon's turn to protest. "We have to find a trunk as well?"

"The key opens the trunk," Leela replied.

"What's in the trunk?" Ray asked.

"Something that must be read." Leela's eyes sparkled, and Egon could've sworn that she was enjoying this. Of course, it wasn't every day that she got to play games with mortals, if this mansion was where she primarily manifested.

"A book?" Egon guessed.

"If we're going to all this trouble for a book and I find out that we could've picked up a copy at Barnes and Noble . . . ." Winston began.

"It is no book," Leela said, "but the words will be life-changing." She gestured to the front door. "We must hurry, if we're to slip back inside when Ripley won't see."

"Where is this trunk-or do we have to look for it as well?" Egon asked.

"The second floor, past the bedrooms." Leela's voice was hushed, and she motioned for Ray, who was closest, to open the door. "Quietly, now, or we'll be caught, and that won't do at all."

Feeling much like a fugitive, Egon followed Leela's lead, along with his companions. They allowed her to scope out the trail first, then quickly and quietly followed her until they'd made their way upstairs.

"Is it just me," Winston commented, once the room's door had safely closed behind them, "or did you two feel like the 'Mission: Impossible' theme song should've been playing while we did that?"

"I did." Ray chuckled. "We should've had black jumpsuits and hats on . . . gloves so we didn't leave fingerprints . . . ."

"Headsets to keep in contact with each other," Winston added.

Egon knew that it was their way of blowing off steam, kidding around. Peter was a master of the habit. If it went on too much longer, Egon would make a token protest, mainly because they'd expect him to. It was the way things were. Of course, while they discussed the stealth technology they should have been outfitted with, Ray and Winston were also helping to search for the trunk they needed.

Egon shoved aside a pile of blankets, revealing a very large trunk. Its lock definitely looked as though it would require a skeleton key. The question was whether or not the key they had was the one. "Is this it?"

"That's it," Leela confirmed.

Egon could immediately see that, with as much as was in the room, especially in the area surrounding the trunk, there likely wasn't going to be enough space to open the trunk and search through it properly. It was big, but the three of them would probably be able to move it. "Can we get this into the hallway?"

"If you can move it, go ahead," Leela told him. "But we'll need to be more watchful out there."

Egon understood where she was coming from, but he could see that if he opened the trunk from its current position, he wouldn't have been able to get the lid fully open; it would have come up against the wall. If they moved it forward, they'd still have to leave the space behind it clear so that they could open the lid, and they'd have needed that space to put the items they'd have displaced by moving the trunk forward. Though it meant much more work, moving the trunk outside of the room seemed to be the best option. All they had to do was clear a pathway so they _could_ get it out. Egon began to work on that; Winston and Ray immediately moved to help. Once that had been accomplished, they started moving the trunk. It took a lot of work, but they finally got the trunk out into the hall. Winston handed the key to Egon, and the physicist slid the key into the lock. It unlocked easily, and they opened the trunk to find only a few items at the bottom of it.

"What?" Winston stared. "We went to all that trouble for that stuff? Who uses a trunk this big for just a couple of things?"

"These people, apparently." Egon slipped the key back into his pocket, then leaned over the edge of the trunk, peering into it. "Now we must figure out exactly what we're looking for." A framed painting was quickly discarded, as were two small trinkets. Once he'd set them aside, Egon spotted the corner of an envelope peeking out from beneath another small painting. He snatched it up. "This may be it." Leela provided no guidance; she'd disappeared sometime between their getting the trunk into the hall and the discovery of the envelope. Egon was sure she'd show up again later. He carefully slid the letter inside the envelope out, opening it to read. It was a note, in a woman's handwriting.

_William, my dearest-_

_For so long I've waited for this night. I love you, and I've no doubt of your love for me. Meet me downstairs tonight, after the guests leave, and I shall give you the answer to the question you posed to me this afternoon. No, I shall give it now. Tonight, my love, we'll be as one. Yes, William, I do._

_My love always,_

_Rebekah_

Realization of exactly what this meant sunk in quickly, and Egon passed the note to Ray, who held it so that Winston could read it as well.

"Wow," Ray breathed. "Someone must've given William a fake note, or just not given him this one."

"Yeah," Winston agreed. "This doesn't sound like a lady who was about to kill herself."

"Murder, then." Egon accepted the letter as Winston passed it back to him. This had instantly become much more complicated-but at least it gave Egon some ideas about why these ghosts hadn't moved on. _If there was a murder here, one that no one except the killer knew of . . . ._

"Excellent deduction," a chilling voice cut in. "You're far cleverer than I'd originally have given you all credit for." It was Ripley. He hadn't wanted them in the mansion; he'd been trying to keep a close eye on them since they'd come. It all began to fall into place, making a good deal more sense once they knew the secret surrounding Rebekah's death.

Winston summed it up best. "You've _got_ to be kidding me. The _butler_ did it?"

Ripley inclined his head. "A bit cliché, I'll admit, but necessary. I couldn't allow their union; it would have ruined everything. She was a common girl; her ancestry was frankly inferior when compared to his. She couldn't be allowed to marry him. But, tonight, she will, and we will all finally move on."

"Bastard," Winston snarled. Egon was a bit surprised, but Winston had certainly dealt with prejudice in his life and had more than enough reason to have such passion regarding the issue. "Who were you to decide whether she was good enough? They loved each other!"

"My job was to maintain order in the household." Ripley said it as though that excused his actions completely. "An order, I might add, that you are most certainly disrupting."

"We're gonna tell them the truth!" Ray vowed, his jaw setting determinedly. "You won't get away with this!"

"Oh, but you forget-I already have."

Egon held the note tightly in his hand. "We have proof. And we're going to bring the truth to light. _That's_ the way for everyone to move on, not your ill-advised scheme for Janine to take Rebekah's place. Another sacrificial lamb, is that what she was supposed to be?"

Ripley ignored Egon entirely, and snapped his fingers. The trunk slid forward abruptly, knocking Ray and Winston, standing in front of it, off their feet. They fell backwards, into the trunk; its lid slammed shut over them. Even after seeing it happen, Egon wasn't entirely convinced that the trunk had been big enough to hold both men, but it apparently was. Either that, or Ripley had worked some magic to negate traditional physics. It didn't matter, though, because Egon wasn't going to let them stay in there for long. He didn't dare pull out the key to undo the lock; he might as well have simply surrendered the key to Ripley. His anger blazing, Egon strode forward so that he stood only a foot away from the butler. "Let them out. Now."

"You've been trying to get out for quite some time now, haven't you?" Ripley sounded almost bored. "I'll _show_ you out. Good night, Dr. Spengler."

Before Egon could escape, Ripley had him by both shoulders, lifting him from the floor. In a move that _definitely_ negated traditional physics, Ripley threw Egon through the wall, which became almost fluid as Egon passed through it. The outside world was not so kind. Egon immediately discovered that he was hanging in midair with nothing to support him-and, unlike in cartoons, there was no grace period before gravity kicked in. He was falling, helplessly, desperately grabbing at anything that might have broken his fall. His only comfort was in knowing that it was wholly possible to survive a second-story fall, provided that one didn't land on their head or impale themselves on anything.

Several tree branches slowed Egon's descent, though he could have certainly thought of more pleasant ways to do that, and he landed on Ecto-1's hood with a loud _thump_. There were a few dents in the car's hood, but that seemed to be the worst damage either of them had suffered, beyond a plethora of bruises . . . but Egon had come to think of getting bruised as being par for the course when it came to his job. He groaned softly and rolled over, intending to sit up, but miscalculated and tumbled off the hood, landing on the ground. He'd lost his glasses somewhere between the plummet through the trees and landing on Ecto's hood, and Egon immediately started looking for them. He crawled around the area, squinting in hopes of seeing the red frames lying on the ground in front of him. After determining that they weren't on the ground in the immediate area, Egon stood up, hoping his glasses hadn't been thrown too far-and that they weren't broken. That would have been all he needed. Finally, Egon found them-on Ecto's top rack, no less, right next to the proton gun. The frames were slightly askew, since the earpiece was bent, but the lenses were blessedly in one piece. Egon managed to bend the recalcitrant piece back into place, and put the glasses on again after cleaning them on his shirt.

Except for the sparing of his glasses, it seemed absolutely impossible to Egon that this day could get any worse-but, as he considered it, he remembered that Winston and Ray had landed themselves in danger, too, and they were no closer to helping Janine or Peter. He could lose them all. Things _could_ get worse, far worse, and they would if Egon was unable to get back inside and help his friends.

Motivated by the thought, Egon stumbled to his feet, and began walking back toward the mansion's front door. As he did, shutters began to slam closed. Egon heard the door being barred shut, as though it had been waiting for him. He tried the door anyway, cursing softly when it wouldn't open. The back door offered no better luck, and Egon began walking back to the front of the mansion. There had to be a way in. He couldn't let his friends down. He had to help them.

There was a plate glass window on the first floor; it had no shutters on it to be closed. The room beyond the window looked like a ballroom, but it was unoccupied, which was a bonus. Egon smiled; Ripley hadn't sealed off _all_ potential entrances. The situation might have been bleak, but it wasn't hopeless, not yet. He began searching the area around the front of the mansion for anything that might have been useful in breaking the window.

Ripley had made a serious error in underestimating the ingenuity of his foes.

After a few minutes, Janine was able to convince herself to get up and move away from the door. She'd stopped shaking and was actually beginning to calm down when someone began knocking on her door urgently. _Please don't let that be William._ Steeling herself for a possible confrontation, Janine called out, "Who's there?"

"Me." She was relieved to hear that the voice belonged to one Peter Venkman. "I'm glad you're in there. We need to talk."

"I'm all for that." Janine moved back to the door, opening it to allow him entry. "_I'm_ glad _you're_ here. I've got a major problem on my hands."

"I'll say," Peter agreed. "That Ripley guy's got some freaky plans involving Edwards, a wedding, and you."

"So does William," Janine informed him. "He thinks I'm his lover, Rebekah. She killed herself the night before they were supposed to get married. It's an awfully sad story, and I can understand how he'd _want_ her back, but I can't seem to convince him that I'm not her!"

"I had the same problem with Ripley," Peter admitted. "He thinks you're going to marry ol' Will tonight. I told him we don't do that shtick, but he didn't listen. I think Ripley knows you're not really Rebekah; he just doesn't care. He's convinced that hooking you two up is the way to free all the ghosts around here." He paused. "I guess you've figured out that they're all ghosts, too?"

"I thought it might be one explanation for the fact that William hasn't got a pulse," Janine replied dryly. "I'd wondered if the others were. It would explain a lot."

"Sure does." Without waiting for an invitation, Peter sank down onto the bed. "I wonder what trapped them all here. One not moving on, I could understand, maybe two, but . . . ."

"Do you think Rebekah's suicide had anything to do with it?" Janine asked.

"I suppose it might. Anything's possible." Peter flopped backwards on the bed so that he was lying down. "You know, this thing's pretty comfortable. If figuring out where everyone else has gotten off to and getting the hell out of here weren't such priorities, I might actually be enjoying myself."

Janine assessed his appearance. He'd dressed up since she'd seen him last. "Nice suit. You go to all that trouble on my account?"

Peter sat up. "In a manner of speaking."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's for the wedding."

Janine rolled her eyes. "And here I thought you were on _my_ side."

"I am." Peter hopped off the bed, and briefly examined himself in the full-length mirror. "Ripley said to put it on, or else, and I didn't like the sound of that 'or else,' especially since we don't know where the guys are. Gotta admit, though, I do look good."

"You and your ego again," Janine sighed. "I don't suppose you've already concocted a brilliant scheme to get us out of this and you're just waiting for my help to pull it off?"

He grinned at that. "I wish. How about you?"

"Nope-you're out of luck there."

"_We're_ out of luck," Peter corrected.

Janine brushed her bangs out of her eyes impatiently. "I was afraid of that. So what do we do now?"

"Oh, I don't know. Start looking for a new job, maybe? Something a little less stressful, like lion taming. High rise construction, perhaps? Hey, I know-crash test dummy." If anyone could be flippant during a crisis, it was Peter. He'd turned the concept into a fine art.

Janine could play that game, too. "I should've listened to my mother and become a librarian."

"Yeah, but consider all the recognition and glory you'd have missed." Peter paced about the room for a moment, then abruptly stopped and dropped back onto the bed again. "We may be idiots for doing this, Janine, but at least we're famous idiots."

Janine laughed softly. "You wouldn't know it from our bank accounts."

"Fame has a price-literally, in our case."

There was a sharp rap on the door next, the only warning before Ripley entered the room. "Ah, there you are, Dr. Venkman. I'm glad you took my advice." Janine could only assume he was referring to Peter's change of clothing. Ripley then turned to her. "Why, you haven't put on your dress." He motioned to a chair, over which the wedding gown from the attic had been carefully draped. Near it sat a pair of shoes; jewelry was laid out on the dresser. Janine had noticed it all upon returning to her room, but had chosen to ignore it.

Ripley hadn't given _her_ an "or else," and Janine had no reservations about defying him. "No, and I'm not going to. I'm _not_ Rebekah."

"But of course you are, dear. You'll remember in time."

Apparently, no one had ever taught Ripley not to risk the wrath of a redhead. Then again, in his day, most women wouldn't have dared to speak back to a man. _Of course, well-behaved women rarely make history._ "Don't try your mind games on me, all right? It's not going to work! I'm not Rebekah, and I'm _not_ marrying anyone!"

Ripley glared at her. "Make no mistake, you _will_ do it . . . or I really do fear for your friends."

That caught Peter's attention, enough so that he jumped to his feet instantly, his posture that of one who was ready to fight. "What about them?"

"Yeah, where are they?" Janine demanded.

"They're here," Ripley said, "though I can't make that guarantee for long." He pointed to the mirror. Its reflective surface became cloudy, an amalgamation of colors beginning to twist about and swirl together. When it cleared, Janine and Peter could see an image of Winston and Ray, so close together they had to be in a confined space. They were hitting at the walls of whatever held them, shouting to be let out.

Peter's face paled visibly. "What did you do to them?" he growled, advancing on Ripley.

"Nothing." Ripley waved his hand and the image vanished, leaving the mirror as it had been before. "They may not _like_ it, but they're perfectly safe-until they run out of air, naturally, or something else happens. But that's entirely up to you both."

"What about Egon?" Janine was almost afraid to ask.

"Dr. Spengler has already been taken care of. I showed him out."

Janine didn't know what that meant, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. She couldn't handle any more bad news, and Peter didn't look like he could, either. But they had to know. "You didn't kill him." Maybe stating it like a known fact would make the possibility disappear.

Ripley gave her a look resembling one a pet owner might give to an animal who simply wasn't getting the hang of a new command. "No, I didn't kill him. He's outside. I wouldn't harbor any delusions about his coming to your rescue, though. He's _not_ getting back in."

That would make sense. Egon was the smartest of the group, and the most likely to figure out what was going on and find a way to stop it. Getting him out of the way was only logical, from Ripley's perspective. Janine was grateful he hadn't done it in a much more permanent fashion. Peter's body language radiated relief at the news as well. There was always the possibility that Ripley was lying to them, but Janine thought he was much more the type that would have gloated about it had he actually killed Egon. He'd have tried to use it to break them.

However, there was still Ray and Winston's fate to worry about. Janine had seen many times over the years how incredibly close these guys were. Losing two of them would have been devastating for the survivors, not to mention how much Janine knew her own heart would be broken.

A ghostly marriage couldn't really last, could it? Janine was still living; this time, William and his intended really _were_ from separate worlds. She didn't want to marry him, not at all. But she couldn't sit back and condemn Winston and Ray to what seemed like certain death, never mind what might still happen to Egon and Peter. Ripley had made the choice for her, as he'd intended to all along. _Damn him._ Janine's jaw set firmly and she dropped her eyes to the floor to avoid seeing Peter's reaction as she ground out the words, "All right. I'll do it."

"All right. I'll do it."

Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing. "_What_?" He wanted to grab Janine by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. "Janine, you can't-"

"You heard the lady," Ripley interrupted, looking far too smug. Peter wanted to hit him. "She's finally seen reason."

"Reason, nothing." Janine looked like a woman who knew she'd just effectively signed her life away. "Friendship is the only reason _I've_ seen-something you obviously know nothing about."

"He knows enough to manipulate us with it," Peter snapped. "Even my dad would never stoop that low." Charlie Venkman was a master manipulator, but though he might accidentally get someone in trouble with his schemes sometimes, there was never any malice intended. And he wasn't an extortionist by any means.

Ripley ignored that entirely, and looked off to one side as the grandfather clock in the hall chimed midnight. "The wedding will be in half an hour. I suggest you ready yourselves." He left; the heavy wooden door swung shut behind him.

Peter hurried over to Janine. He set a hand on her shoulder and gently asked, "Why'd you do it?"

She didn't meet his eyes. "You know why. You guys have risked yourselves for me before, and you've sure as hell risked yourselves for each other. What else could I have done?"

Peter slid two fingers under Janine's chin, raising her head so that she would look at him. "Don't do this to be noble, or because you feel like you owe us something."

"I'm not," Janine insisted, raw emotion in her tone. "I'm doing this because it's the-oh, hell. It's _not_ the right thing to do. But it's the only thing I _can_ do."

Peter wondered if she realized exactly _what_ she was doing. "Janine, I'm not sure if you're aware of this or not, but . . . er, let's say that Ripley is, um, fully aware of the problem with your being alive and William's, well, not."

"You mean he wants to kill me." Janine's tone was flat.

"You _knew_?"

"I suspected," Janine confessed. "It didn't seem to make much sense for us to get married when we couldn't really be together. We might get lucky and the marriage is going to be what frees them, but I don't think that's it."

"No, there are too many loose ends." Peter was inclined to agree with her theory. "The only way for you to be with him for all eternity is if you joined him on the other side. That would be bad. And if it's the whole star-crossed lovers bit keeping William here, why are all the others bound? It has to be something bigger."

"Something that Ripley knows, but he doesn't want anyone else to find out," Janine finished.

"What makes you say that?"

"He asked for me to come alone, remember?" Janine reminded him. "He didn't like it when he found out that you guys were here, too. No one else reacted that way."

"I should've known that something was seriously wrong with this place when our stuff wouldn't work," Peter lamented. "Granted, it's a haunted house, which is always bad news, but . . . ."

"Yeah." Janine looked thoughtful. "Wait a minute. We know the PKE meter's screwed up, but what about our packs? The traps?"

Peter could see where she was going with that train of thought, but it wasn't going to do them any good. While prowling around the mansion earlier, Peter had stopped by the closet that housed their proton packs and tried one out. It was as useless as the meter had been. "No, I tried that earlier. It didn't work."

Janine shrugged as if to say, "I tried." She walked over to the wedding gown, picking it up. "You know, it really is a beautiful dress."

"If only it were being used for something a lot better than this." Peter stole up behind Janine, reaching out to squeeze her upper arm lightly. "You don't have to go through with this. We'll figure something out to save the guys."

Janine turned, and blue eyes met green. She looked directly into Peter's face with a determination he hadn't seen from her before, and he'd seen her plenty determined. "Peter, we're not gonna have time. I don't want to do this. But I can't risk their lives-and yours, too, maybe-just because I might be in danger."

"But this is more than your life we're talking about," Peter pointed out. "This is eternity, if things don't go right."

"Then I guess we'd better hope things go right." Janine forced a smile, but Peter saw the tears welling in her eyes. "And if they don't, I guess it's lucky for me that I know a good parapsychologist." She laughed mirthlessly.

"Guess so. I hear he's the best." Peter understood her tactic all too well. _Black humor, laugh so you don't fall apart._ He took one of Janine's hands into both of his. "You'd better write this down, because I don't plan on saying it again once we get out of this, which we will. But . . . you're a hell of a lady, Janine."

Janine didn't say anything for a long moment; she only watched him, her eyes glistening with tears. Then, without warning, she pulled Peter into a tight hug. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself."

"I'm going to find a way to get you out of this-I promise you that." Peter rarely actually _promised_ something. He'd grown up with his father tossing that word around as though it were nothing, and usually breaking those promises quickly. Charlie hadn't meant anything by it. He just had other interests that took priority, namely profit-and himself. Peter had long ago vowed that when he made a promise, he would keep it, no matter what. He intended to do exactly that this time as well.

"Oh, Peter . . . ."

He held up a finger to silence her. "I've never broken a promise to you yet, have I?"

Janine shook her head. They didn't need to say anything more on the subject-for them, it had all been said. Peter slipped out of the room a minute later so that Janine could have some privacy to change. He might not have liked it, but choices had been made and he couldn't interfere. At least it gave him time to work on a plan. With any luck, this whole ordeal would soon be nothing more than a bad memory.

Egon was beginning to wonder if he'd ever find anything suitable for breaking the window when he noticed an iron rod jutting out from one of the gargoyle statues near the front porch. It might have once been a scepter in the creature's hand, but now it was rusted at the base, and it looked possible to break the rod away. Egon kicked at it, smiling in satisfaction as the piece gave way a little. After several more well-aimed kicks and a little pulling, Egon had managed to break the rod free and was holding it in his hands. There were a few jagged edges, mainly where it had broken free, but he'd make sure to be careful of those. In any case, he'd had his tetanus shots; the concern on Egon's mind was freeing his friends.

The mansion wasn't going to make it easy for him. Egon quickly discovered that the ballroom window had the same properties as the window upstairs-it spider-webbed and then repaired itself. But surely the window couldn't hold out forever. Egon swung again, harder this time, and achieved the same results. _Maybe if I hit it faster, before the window had time to mend itself . . . ._

Egon swung the iron rod faster and harder, putting all of his energy into the task. No matter what he did, though, the window kept regenerating itself and leaving him to start over from scratch. There was no other way in; all of the other potential entrances had been sealed.

Weary from both physical exertion and emotion distress, Egon collapsed to the ground beside Ecto-1, leaning back against the Cadillac. He allowed his head to fall back to rest against Ecto's driver-side door, and dropped the iron rod to the ground. He wasn't giving up, not completely, but he was out of ideas and heartsick at what that might mean for those dearest to him.

As Peter would have put it, life sucked.

"You know what? Life sucks," Peter declared to no one in particular. Anna had slipped into Janine's room to help the bride-to-be-Peter cringed at that thought-get her hair and makeup done, and it had been a good ten minutes since. Peter knew that such things could take hours, but they didn't have hours. He wished they did. He strolled up and down the hallway a few times, not quite pacing, and then paused outside Janine's room, knocking on the door irreverently. "Are you ladies almost done in there, or should I go get a magazine?"

"Come on in, Peter," Janine called.

Peter walked inside-and his jaw dropped. Janine looked gorgeous. Her hair was piled on top of her head in an elegant-looking updo, the look accented by two rhinestone combs. The white gown fit Janine almost perfectly, and her usual makeup scheme had been altered in favor of something more subdued, but it worked well. "You . . . wow."

"Thanks." Janine smiled, and motioned toward Anna. "She's a real miracle worker. Ten minutes, and my hair's done. I didn't think it possible." Her tone was far too light; she was definitely faking it, at least beyond the part about Anna being a miracle worker.

Peter brushed the dust from the sleeves of his jacket and smoothed the front. He looked into the mirror as he worked his hair back into place with his fingertips and nodded approvingly, then reassessed himself and Janine. "We clean up nicely, don't we?"

"I'll say." Janine walked over and straightened Peter's tie for him. "I've got to tell you, I always had this day pictured a lot differently in my mind."

"Me too." Peter took a step back while Anna moved in closer to fasten a necklace around Janine's neck. It glittered, picking up the flickering candlelight in the room. "It _should_ have been a lot different. It will be, someday."

"I don't know." Janine half-shrugged. "I'm thirty-seven and single, and I haven't really seriously thought about getting married in a couple of years."

Peter recognized the desperate reaching for some semblance of normality, something remotely approaching their normal banter. He felt much the same way. "Considering who's had a starring role in most of those fantasies, I'm not surprised. You're lucky to get a tastefully arranged bouquet of fungi out of him."

That got a smile out of her. "He has his moments. I've always had a weakness for academics. And blonds. I never stood a chance."

The fact that Janine was even discussing this with him told Peter how out of sorts she was feeling. He patted her shoulder. "Ah, you never know. He may come around yet. But, even if he doesn't, whoever you end up marrying-if you decide to go that route-is gonna be pretty lucky." He winked at her, then added, "That is, if he doesn't mind his woman running the show."

Janine was silent for a moment before asking, "Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"Yes, ma'am." This was good; it felt right, unlike everything else about the situation, which was completely wrong. Peter raked a hand through his hair. He'd promised her he'd think of something, and save them from this, and he had no intentions of letting her down. He just wished he knew how he was going to pull it off.

Ripley met them out in the hall about five minutes before the wedding was to begin, presumably to give them a final inspection and last-minute instructions. "You've made the wisest decision, let me assure you," he told them. "Resistance would have served no purpose except to cause you and your friends more trouble."

Peter scowled. He might have been a participant-after all, if Janine was going to do this, he couldn't leave her to do it alone-but he didn't have to like it.

"You might try to look a little happier, Dr. Venkman," Ripley advised, "but I suppose that's up to you." He scanned Janine with his eyes. "Perfect. Exactly how she-you, rather-should have looked. Except one thing." He took Janine's glasses from her. "There, much better."

"Hey!" Janine protested. "I need those!"

"You have limited distance vision, correct?" Ripley asked. "If this is to work, it must be as close to what should have been as possible. You can have them back after the ceremony." He handed the glasses to Peter. "Hold these."

Peter tossed Janine an apologetic look as he tucked the pair of glasses into his jacket's inside pocket. "Just hold onto my arm. I won't run you into a wall."

"Very funny," Janine shot back. "I'm not _that_ bad."

Ripley led them to the landing of the staircase that descended into the foyer. "Wait here until I signal for you," he instructed, then headed downstairs.

Peter resumed their mock argument. "Yeah, true, at least you don't mistake Slimer for a cat without your glasses."

Janine laughed softly. "That was pretty good. You know, I don't think I trusted that uncle of Egon's from the beginning."

"I'd never liked him," Peter said, then smiled faintly. Thinking of Slimer had brought back another memory as well. "It's too bad we didn't bring Slimer along on this one."

"Why?" Janine asked. "So he could have told us from the beginning that they were all ghosts?"

Peter inclined his head a little. "That and he could have stood in for you on this one. Of course, he looked a heck of a lot better in Egon's clothes than he probably would in your dress."

Janine's face wrinkled briefly. "Eww. I don't even want to _think_ about Slimer in a dress. What is it with us and these ghostly weddings, huh?"

"I don't know," Peter replied. The question had occurred to him as well. "But we have a history of getting around them, if you'll recall, so keep your chin up."

Janine nodded, just as music began to drift up to them from the floor below. Peter saw Ripley motion for them to come down.

"Here goes nothing," Peter sighed, offering Janine his arm, which she took. He wasn't giving up hope yet; they had a habit of getting out of sticky situations at the last minute. "Let's go."

Together, they walked down the steps, accompanied by Charles on the organ. Peter was sure the organ hadn't been in the room before; Ripley must have had it moved in. The song Charles was playing was some classical piece Peter should've known the name of, but didn't. Egon would have. It wasn't the traditional wedding march, in any case; it must have been a song William and Rebekah had been planning to use in their wedding.

William's face lit up at the sight of Janine, but he must have noticed the tears trickling down her cheeks, because he threw a troubled look to Ripley, who was wearing a purple robe and appeared to be presiding over the ceremony. Ripley whispered something to William, which seemed to ease the man's concerns. _Probably something about it being tears of joy._

Reluctantly, Peter pulled his arm away from Janine, allowing William to take his place. He took a step back, assuming a comfortable stance next to Anna, who seemed to be there simply to observe. At least she didn't have the bouquet of flowers she'd been holding earlier; that would have driven Peter's hay fever nuts.

There had to be a good point for him to break in. Most wedding ceremonies had one; the trick would be finding it. But once he did, Peter was going to seize the opportunity to create a little disruption. The thought encouraged him.

Ripley cleared his throat, and began. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in the bonds of matrimony . . . ."

Edward Spengler had loved his son, even if he'd been a bit distant, and Egon had always been sure of that. Even so, as a child, he'd wanted desperately to please his father, if only to win that rare but heartwarming smile of approval. Consequently, Egon had structured himself, arranged his life, from a young age, and decided exactly what he was and was not going to allow himself to do. His father had never been intolerant of tears, but hadn't thought much of them, either, and Egon had followed that example his entire life, even into adulthood. Egon couldn't remember the last time he'd cried; it had to have been when he was very young, and had likely followed an injury. He'd _wanted_ to cry a few times, both from despair and happiness, but his self-imposed rules had always intervened and kept him from doing so. Sitting outside of the mansion, leaning against Ecto, thinking of what fate appeared to have in store for his friends, knowing he couldn't help them . . . Egon felt that old uncomfortable feeling, that of tears threatening. At that point in time, he was unthinkably close to throwing away the rulebook and actually letting himself break down.

Movement on the edge of his peripheral vision caught Egon's attention; Leela was soon hovering beside him.

"What are you doing?" Leela asked. "Plan to just sit there, feeling sorry for yourself and your friends?"

Egon shook his head sadly as he turned to look at her. "I can't get in there to help them. I tried-and failed."

The ghostly gypsy merely shrugged. "You try; you fail. It happens. That's life. The only true failure is when you stop trying."

"I've tried everything I could think of!" Egon insisted, glaring at Leela. "I _want_ to help them; they're my _friends_! But nothing's worked."

"Never say never," Leela advised, the mist that surrounded her swirling a bit.

"Why don't you get us inside?" Egon challenged.

"If I could, I would. It's not within my power," Leela told him. Her lips twisted into a wry grin. "But you can still effect a change."

"What do you want me to do?" Egon demanded.

Another smile, this one much more cryptic, crossed Leela's lips. "Try again."

The iron rod that Egon had pulled from the gargoyle wasn't able to break the window, but with Leela's gentle prodding, Egon came to realize that what he needed was something larger, something that could shatter the glass before it could recover. He leapt to his feet as it hit him, slapping Ecto's hood with his open palm. "I'm a fool! I should have realized . . . ."

Leela shook her head, sliding smoothly through the Cadillac's passenger door and settling herself in the seat, though she actually hovered just above it. "Skip the guilt trip and get to the rescue. You're human. You overlooked something. Deal with it."

Egon couldn't quite hide his smile as he opened Ecto's driver-side door and climbed in. He turned the keys in the ignition, put the car into reverse, and backed up a good two hundred yards. The realist in him took the opportunity to mention what a dangerous idea this was-and, of course, the physicist in him was reciting Newton's Laws of Thermodynamics, especially the part concerning objects in motion being acted upon by outside forces. However, the Ghostbuster in him was willing to do whatever it took to rescue his friends, and he accepted the risk. _After all, _Egon reminded himself, recalling an old Star Trek episode he'd once watched with Ray, _risk is our business._ He glanced at Leela, beside him. "Hold on."

Leela shot him a "what-fools-these-mortals-be" sort of look. "To _what_?"

Egon half-shrugged; she had a point. Of course, since she wasn't actually alive, she couldn't really be killed. So perhaps the point was moot. He took a deep breath, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Winston, forgive me." With that, Egon slammed his foot onto the gas pedal, throwing Ecto into a wild acceleration. The terrain was rough, and the old ambulance's shocks had needed work anyway, so the ride was far from smooth. There was a short downward staircase in their path-one that Egon had known about and been counting on-that, even with only its four steps, wouldn't have been something they would normally have been driving across. At their current velocity, the drop-off was enough to set Ecto and her passengers airborne. For a few brief, terrifying moments, the car was hurtling through the air, directly toward the plate glass window of the mansion's ballroom. They crashed through the window with relative ease, eventually skidding to a stop-which was aided by the presence of the room's only furnishings, a grand piano and its bench. Glass was everywhere, both from the window they'd crashed through and Ecto's own windows. There was a giant spider-web crack in the center of Ecto's windshield, and Egon found himself very grateful for his seat belt. He'd been jolted around enough as it was; he didn't even want to think about what the impact might have been like without it.

Leela was backing away from the dashboard, where she'd plastered herself for most of the ride. "That was interesting."

"Indeed," Egon agreed. He got out of the car, wincing at the damage. It wasn't pretty, but it could be repaired. Ecto had seen worse damage before. Still, telling Winston wasn't likely to be pleasant. Ray wasn't liable to be thrilled, either, but he always looked at a repair job as something of a challenge-and Ray loved challenges. However, in order to tell either one of them, Winston and Ray would have to be rescued first. Egon threw Leela a look over his shoulder. "I'll get Winston and Ray. You just . . . you . . . ."

"I'll wait here," the gypsy said dryly.

Egon nodded, pausing to retrieve the spare proton pack from the back of the vehicle, just in case. Even if it didn't work, the pack weighed about forty pounds and could probably be put to _some _use as a weapon, if primitively. He didn't bother to pull the attached trap from the pack; it might come in handy as well. As soon as he'd strapped the proton pack in place, Egon headed for the ballroom doors at a run. Hopefully, Ripley would be distracted enough by the wedding that he wouldn't notice Egon's return. The physicist decided to take the back hallways and staircase that Leela had shown them, thereby avoiding the foyer entirely on his way to the second floor. Of course, the whole mansion was haunted. There was no telling what might lie in wait for him. But he had to help his friends; nothing else mattered. _Let them come,_ Egon thought, feeling much bolder than he ever had since they had discovered their PKE meter to be useless in this place. _If they want a fight, we'll give them one, though they may regret it. They've never had to deal with the Ghostbusters before._

Ray and Winston's shouts could be heard from outside the trunk imprisoning them. The shouts for help, alternating with angry calls for Ripley to let them out of there, were intermingled with various _thuds_; they were obviously trying to escape on their own.

From the end of the hallway, Egon assessed the situation. The trunk was locked, but he still had the key. The chains surrounding it might be more of a problem, but they were old and rusted; it wouldn't be impossible to get through them.

The knights in armor that lined the hallway seemed to be watching Egon, and he wouldn't have been entirely surprised if they were. However, knights or no knights, he had to rescue his friends. Egon drew in a deep breath and took a step forward. All of the knights snapped to attention, watching him ominously.

"Ours is not to question why," Egon whispered; this wouldn't be easy, but it was necessary. He ran forward, ducking as one of the knights swung its axe at him-and immediately jumping as another tried to trip him with a set of chains. Snatching his thrower, Egon swung that to fend off another knight, simultaneously twisting and ducking again to avoid another hatchet. It continued like that all the way down the hall-twist, duck, swing, jump. It was almost as though the knights were programmed to attack in a certain way, with a certain order. Fortunately for Egon, as soon as he had defeated one of the knights, it fell apart, landing in a heap of armor on the floor.

Egon was a moment too slow as he approached the last two knights, and he tumbled to the floor, instinctively rolling onto his back. It wasn't exactly a natural move with the proton pack on, but the physicist managed-just in time to see a knife headed straight for his throat. In an adrenaline-powered move so fast he almost didn't believe it himself, Egon managed to swing his thrower up to block the knife; the thrower impacted the hilt sending the knife-and the knight's arm along with it-flying. Egon leapt to his feet, snatched one of the hatchets from the floor, and brought it down on the lock that held the chains surrounding the trunk in place. After a second swipe, it broke free, and the chains fell away. Egon pulled the key from his pocket and quickly unlocked the trunk. It swung open, and Ray and Winston tumbled out, falling the two feet that the trunk was suspended above the floor. Egon laid the hatchet on the floor again and snapped his thrower back into its resting place, then reached down to help his friends to their feet.

Ray's face split into a wide smile. "Wow, is it ever good to see you again!"

"I'll second that. How'd you get back in here, man?" Winston asked, patting Egon's shoulder. "We heard what was going on outside-I thought that Ripley had managed to put you out for good."

"He nearly did," Egon admitted. "However, I managed to break a window and get back in."

"But how?" Ray questioned, frowning a little. "We tried to break that one earlier and it fixed itself right away. Are they different outside?"

"No, I had the same result at first," Egon told them. "However, simple physics prevailed. I found a larger projectile, one that didn't allow the window time to recover, as it were."

Winston grinned. "That makes sense, you know. Where'd you find something big enough out there? I don't recall seeing anything lying aro-Egon?" His eyes widened, as if something horrible had occurred to him. "Egon, _tell me_ you didn't do what I'm thinking you did."

"We can discuss that later," Egon said abruptly.

That was apparently confirmation enough for Winston, who paled slightly. "Egon! What did you do to my baby?"

Ray, always the peacemaker, stepped forward. "I'm sure we can fix it. The important part is that we got out, right?"

"True," Winton allowed, nodding. Then he smiled. "C'mon, guys, what are we standing around for?"

Ray's eyes widened with excitement. "Yeah, we've got a wedding to crash!"

Winston winced at the last word. "You had to say 'crash.'"

Egon pulled the cloak that one of the knights had been wearing free, and put it on to cover his pack; he was going to wear it, but it would be best not to let it be immediately revealed. After all, they didn't know if whatever was stopping it from working might eventually be reversed. He exchanged a glance with Winston, who seemed to understand, and the two of them dashed off to follow Ray down the hallway. William's wedding plans were simply going to have to be delayed.

Ripley was drawing to the close of the wedding ceremony, and Peter was still trying desperately to find a place to disrupt it. After all, he'd made a promise to Janine.

Peter was also worried about Egon, Ray, and Winston. Surely they'd have shown up by now if they were all right, unless they were merely tied up with other ghosts elsewhere. _Yeah, that's it, _he tried to convince himself. _They're busy upstairs. They'll be here any minute. _He knew they'd been trapped, but he also knew the ingenuity of his friends. If anyone could escape, it would be them. He had to keep believing that.

Ripley turned to William, his voice still infuriatingly emotionless, at least from Peter's perspective. "Do you, William Edwards, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and obey, to honor and cherish, 'til the end of all time?"

_I suppose "'til death do you part" wouldn't make a lot of sense there,_ Peter mused darkly, gritting his teeth as a smile of pure happiness spread across William's face. The psychologist was barely listening as William answered, "I do."

From where he was standing, Peter could see that the tears were still streaming down Janine's face as Ripley asked her, "And do you, Rebekah Goldberg, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and obey, to honor and cherish, 'til the end of all time?"

Janine's voice was choked as she softly said, "Yes." What choice was left to her?

Ripley nodded approvingly, and sprinkled something into the glass of wine before them. He held the glass out to Janine, indicating that she should drink from it. Peter opened his mouth to tell her not to do it, but a dark look from Ripley stopped him-literally. He couldn't say anything. Janine rose the glass to her lips. Peter wanted to dash forward and knock the glass from her hand, but he was frozen in place. "Then, unless there are any objections to this union, I now pronounce you-"

"Objections?" a familiar voice shouted, as the doors to the foyer flew open. Blessedly, Janine was distracted enough to drop the goblet in her hand. Whatever Ripley had put in there, she could have only gotten a sip at most. Peter whirled about to see Ray racing in, Egon and Winston only steps behind him. "Yeah, we've got a few!"

"Guys!" Janine's face lit up with delight and she turned, lifting her dress so that she could run down the stairs. She made a beeline for Egon, hugging him first, then each of the other Ghostbusters in turn. "You made it."

_Well, _Peter figured, _it might not have been a one-man job, but at least we've saved Janine from a really bad marriage-an eternal one, at that._ "Great timing. Glad to see you all." When he was sure that Egon, Ray, and Winston weren't paying attention, Peter reached out to give Janine's hand an affectionate squeeze.

"Rebekah!" William called desperately, hurrying to follow Janine down the staircase. "Rebekah, what are you doing?"

"I'm not Rebekah!" Janine told him, throwing her bouquet to the floor. "I'm sorry you lost her, but _I'm not her_!"

"But you must be," William insisted, his voice holding a puzzled note.

_The guy doesn't get it, does he? _Peter thought, shaking his head. "Let's get a few things straight here, shall we? She's not your Rebekah. Her name is Janine Melnitz. She's from Brooklyn, okay?" Without giving it much thought until after the fact, Peter stepped in front of Janine, assuming a protective stance.

There was a ring of drawn steel, and before Peter knew it, the ceremonial sword that William had been wearing was in his hand. "I'm warning you, sir, step aside. I already lost her once; it shan't happen again."

Peter had worked long and hard during his Columbia days to curb his Brooklyn attitude-not entirely successfully-and mute what hints of an accent he'd picked up. But when he was irritated, it often came back in force, and he was plenty irritated at that moment. "Hey, hey, let's think about this. You want to kill me, eh? You go right ahead, pal, and you try it. But you best watch out, 'cause I'll come after you once I'm on the other side, and I assure you that I'll be kicking your ass for the rest of eternity."

"Peter, please." Egon shook his head and pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. "Before _any _rash decisions are made, I suggest that the truth of the matter be made known. Rebekah did _not_ commit suicide."

"What?" William stared at him in open astonishment.

"He's lying!" Ripley shouted.

Egon thrust the envelope at William. "I suggest you read this, Mr. Edwards, and decide for yourself."

William accepted the note and began to read it; his eyes flew open wide. "'Tonight, my love, we'll be as one. Yes, William, I do,'" he read. Betrayal and astonishment flashed across his features as he spun about to face Ripley. "She wanted to be with me!"

Ripley still managed to look eerily unperturbed. "Must we continue to listen to the ramblings of madmen?" he asked, shooting a meaningful look at the Ghostbusters.

William waved the letter in the air wildly, heading toward the steps. "Then explain this! It's in her handwriting!"

"Yeah, explain _that_, bucko," Peter added, unable to resist.

"The marriage would have been unacceptable," Ripley said, his voice even and utterly calm. "That girl was from another world, one far beneath you, William. To _think_ of what people might have said . . . . They were already talking, you know."

"So you _killed_ her?" William demanded, obviously struggling for control. Fury burned in his brown eyes.

"Yes," Ripley confirmed; he didn't seem to have even a touch of regret. "I had to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life."

"But I loved her!" William cried, his grip tightening on the sword he still held-though, with Ripley, it wouldn't have done him much good.

"And _that_ was your mistake," Ripley hissed. "I slaved for you day in and day out, and you'd have thrown years of devotion away for love. Damn you." He raised a hand and the flames in the fireplace flickered to life, livelier than they should have been. "Damn you all."

Anna shrieked, apparently knowing what was to come, or perhaps only suspecting and not liking it, and hurried down the stairs to stand next to Charles. The servant looked equally terrified as he put his arm over Anna's shoulders. Normally, Peter found the notion of a ghost being afraid of other ghosts laughable, but not now. Something evil glittered in Ripley's eyes, and Peter took a step back to stand beside his friends.

"You'll all get what's coming to you now," Ripley vowed, raising his hand a little higher. The flames leapt forward, as though seeking something-or someone.

Somehow, amidst all the ambient noise, Peter managed to hear the distinctive whine of a proton pack powering up. He looked at Egon, beside him, who was fiddling with something beneath the cloak he wore. Another time, such an action would have been an invitation for a little teasing speculation as to what Egon was actually doing. Right then, it was simply cause for hope. "Egon?"

"I'm not entirely sure how to explain it," Egon replied, "but whatever has been blocking our equipment seems to have been cancelled out. It's possible that Ripley has, in fact, been the one to control it-"

"And now that he's distracted, as it were, we've got our stuff back." Peter frowned. "But if he's human, he's probably a Class Three. They don't usually have that kind of power."

Egon ducked as a tendril of fire reached out for them. "He could be a Class Four as well, and we've seen them with stronger power than we might normally expect."

Peter had been waiting to make a move until Ripley's attention seemed sufficiently diverted, so as not to be fricasseed the moment they tried anything. But the butler's focus was solely on the fire now, as he chanted and it reacted by growing larger. Anna and Charles clutched each other, cowering behind the piano. William merely watched everything that was happening with detached-looking horror.

Peter put his hand on Egon's shoulder, nodding once. They'd contained Class Threes and Fours with only one beam before; he had to hope that Ripley wasn't so strong that they couldn't do it again. A Class Five could sometimes be held with one beam if it was caught off-guard, though they usually required at least two. In this case, they had to hope that one would be enough; it was all they had. "You got a you-know-what?" Peter didn't want to say the word "trap," just in case Ripley was listening. It wouldn't do them much good to attack Ripley if they were unable to trap him.

"Yes, attached to the pack," Egon assured him.

"Great." Peter took a step back, leaving Egon with a clear shot. "Then _blast him_!"

Egon seemed only too happy to oblige. He whipped his cloak back and out of the way and swung the thrower into position. A nervous expression flashed across William's face-Peter caught William's eye and shook his head, trying to convey the message that William was not their intended target. The flames still danced about at Ripley's command, occasionally even leaving their hearth. Egon pressed the trigger button smoothly, and a beam of energy shot from the thrower and toward its target.

Ripley's expression abruptly switched from rage to shock as the proton beam hit him. He tried to back up, but found himself against a wall-and he couldn't disappear through it while ensnared by the beam. He struggled against the beam's pull, but didn't break free. Egon's jaw tightened, but his concentration never seemed to waver. Charles slowly crept out from behind the piano, Anna following him, and they both moved to stand next to their employer. William nodded at them, as if to acknowledge their presence, but his attention returned almost immediately to Ripley. He didn't look disturbed at the sight of the man he'd once thought loyal trapped by the proton beam-rather, he appeared as though he didn't know quite _what_ to think.

"The trap, Peter," Egon instructed, and Peter hurried to detach it from the side of Egon's pack.

Peter tossed the trap out onto the floor with a smooth flip of the wrist, automatically calling, "Trap's out!" He waited for Egon's signal to step on the trigger pedal-and, when he got the subtle nod, Peter did just that. "Trap open."

Whether it was the light they didn't like or if they felt some pull from the trap, Peter couldn't tell, but Anna, Charles, and William moved even further away from it than they had been, eventually crossing over to stand behind the Ghostbusters. Ripley, however, couldn't escape, and he was drawn in, the doors snapping shut over him.

Peter pumped his fists in the air triumphantly. "Yes! We did it!" He lunged forward to hug Egon. "Spengs, you genius!"

"I believe in always being prepared," Egon said smoothly, though he smiled at Peter's words.

"A regular Boy Scout, eh?" Peter teased. "Well, I'll tell you something, Egon. I once-"

He was interrupted by Ray's alarmed-sounding, "_Janine!_" . . . followed by Winston's calling the secretary's name as well. Peter quickly turned around to look behind him, in the direction of the voices, and drew in a sharp breath. Winston and Ray were kneeling beside Janine, who was lying crumpled on the floor. She didn't appear to be conscious.

Peter rushed over, falling to his knees as he reached Janine. Egon followed suit within seconds. "What happened?"

Anna gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "The poison."

"The poison!" Peter echoed. He'd nearly forgotten all about Ripley's addition to the wine. "But she couldn't have had more than a sip . . . ."

"That's enough," Anna reported sadly, her eyes not leaving Janine. "That was all it took for our Rebekah."

"It's not gonna end that way this time," Peter vowed, pulling Janine into his arms. This was one of those times when their rules of engagement went right out the window-she needed him, and he was going to be there. "Janine! Janine, can you hear me? Janine!" He barely noticed as Egon moved closer, hovering over them, and Ray and Winston leaned forward to do the same from the other side. "Janine, come on. Wake up!" Peter spared a moment to look at Winston. "I saw a phone in the other room. Go see if it works; call 911. If it doesn't, use Ecto's phone-something." As Winston rose and began to run out of the room, Peter returned his attention to the woman in his arms. "Janine?" _I promised I'd get her out of this. _He couldn't let her down now. "Hang on, you're gonna be okay. Winston will get medics out here. They'll take care of you. Janine . . . ." Peter could feel her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath she took, and each of them felt like more of a struggle. "C'mon, honey, open your eyes. Let me see those baby blues. You can't check out on me now; I promised we'd get out of this."

Janine's eyes slid open, though it seemed to be a great effort. Her head turned weakly in Peter's direction, and her eyes rose to meet Peter's. The corners of Janine's lips quirked upward in what might have been an attempt to smile. "Blame yourself . . . and I'll come back . . . to haunt you . . . ." It must have zapped the last reserves of her strength, because she slumped limply against him, though her eyes stayed on his face.

Peter bit his lip hard. "Aw, Janine, that's not funny. Come on, stay with us. We're getting help; you're gonna be all right. Just hang on a little longer . . . Janine?" He tried to keep from panicking as Janine's eyes closed and her head fell against his chest. It took him a moment to realize that she'd stopped breathing. "Where the hell are those medics?"

"The phone here wasn't working, but Ecto's was, fortunately," Winston reported. He'd obviously returned, but Peter didn't know when. "They're coming, but they don't know how long it'll be because of the roads and the storm. The dispatcher told me they'd get here as soon as they could."

"That's not soon enough!" Peter snapped, lying Janine gently on the floor. "She's not breathing!" He tilted her head back, lifting her chin enough to open her airway, and sealed his mouth over hers to deliver two breaths. Her chest rose and fell with each of the breaths, and Peter-acting on autopilot-moved his hand from Janine's forehead to her neck, checking for a carotid pulse. Nothing. He adjusted his position and checked again. Still nothing. "Dammit! She hasn't got a pulse!"

Egon moved forward, as though to start CPR, but Winston, slightly closer, beat him to it. Winston was in a better position, anyhow, on the other side of them. He began compressions, pausing after every five to allow Peter to give a breath.

"There's nothing you can do," Charles said forlornly. "The poison is deadly."

"Not this time," Peter hissed before bending down to breathe for Janine again. She didn't respond at all. "Don't you dare leave us . . . fight this!"

Once they were gone, it was rare to get them back. That lesson had been drilled into Winston many times during his medic training in the Army, and it was coming back to haunt him now-no pun intended. CPR could save lives, but it was too often the case that all the CPR in the world wouldn't make a difference. Sometimes, a person simply wasn't going to come back.

Winston feared that was the case this time. They were too far from help; there was no way to know what the poison that had been used actually was. Janine was a good friend, and he certainly didn't want her to die, but Winston had a sinking feeling that this story wasn't going to end happily, either. William had lost Rebekah. They were going to lose Janine.

He looked at the clock. It had been ten minutes since they'd started trying to revive her. Still nothing. Fortunately, with the CPR, Janine hadn't been completely without oxygen, but there was still the potential for some sort of damage.

Peter was beginning to look more and more desperate as time went on. Winston had always known that their fights were mainly for show, that Peter and Janine worked hard to keep their sibling-like relationship from being common knowledge. Peter would probably be the most heartbroken over her death . . . they understood each other better than almost anyone else.

Winston had never been sure exactly what existed between Egon and Janine, but it had always been somewhat obvious that Janine felt much more strongly for Egon than he did for her. It was clear that Egon loved Janine, but he loved her the way the rest of them did, as one would love a dear friend.

Ray looked absolutely lost, as he often did when something went horribly wrong-and it was hard to get much more wrong than this. Ray wasn't so naive as to believe that there was nothing bad in the world, but he would have liked to believe that if he'd been able to. Winston had never been able to understand Ray completely, but he knew that Ray was a very feeling person, and he was certainly going to have some trouble accepting all of this. Winston wasn't sure how well he was going to accept it, himself. Janine might have started off as just being their secretary, but she'd quickly become more. She was their friend.

Fifteen minutes. Even at the shorter five-to-one ratio of two-rescuer CPR, Winston's arms were beginning to feel like jelly. Technically, he could have switched places with Peter, or had one of the others relieve him, but it was decision time. As a medic, Winston had always operated under the rule of thumb that-providing there was no hypothermia or other unusual issue present-after fifteen minutes of CPR, with a medical facility more than fifteen minutes away, "termination of resuscitative efforts should be considered." He'd known the wording, heard the advice from doctors, seen it written in manuals. It had even been personal before, buddies of his in Vietnam. The fact of the matter was, if Janine was going to respond, she'd have done it already. They'd lost her. Winston had lived with making this decision before, taking solace in the fact that they had done everything they could. Despite the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he knew that was what he was going to have to do now.

After they'd completed the most recent cycle, Winston reached out to check for the pulse that he knew by now wasn't going to be present. Though not quite cold yet, Janine's skin was cooling, yet another sign that their efforts would only be futile beyond this point. Winston sighed deeply; this wouldn't be easy. "Still nothing."

"Then let's go again!" Peter insisted.

Winston shook his head. "No. We've been at it fifteen minutes." He had to force the words out; they didn't want to come naturally. "It won't do any good, man; she's gone."

There was a soft gasp from Anna, who then turned to hide her face against Charles' shoulder.

William placed his hand on Peter's shoulder. "I'm terribly sorry."

"No! You're wrong!" Peter snapped. He looked at Winston. "You're just tired, that's all; it's okay." Winston recognized the look of determination in Peter's eyes, and he didn't like it. Peter wasn't going to give up. Winston wouldn't have, either, except that he knew it would do no good. Peter lunged forward toward Janine's body, picking up where they'd left off. "Egon, help me!"

Winston exchanged a glance with Egon. He was _not_ looking forward to this.

Egon caught the look on Winston's face and nodded. He didn't want to give up, either, but he knew what had to be done. Winston had been a medic. He wouldn't stop CPR if there were still hope, especially not with a friend involved. Peter was going to exhaust himself, and it wasn't going to do any good.

Egon could sympathize with Peter's position; he was struggling with his own feelings as well. He wasn't sure quite how to feel. Egon had long known how Janine felt about him-and though her affection at times made him feel uncomfortable, he'd always tried to avoid hurting her. She was a close friend, and he hadn't ruled out the idea that they might, at some point in the future, go beyond that. But it wasn't going to happen now. Was Leela's prophecy going to come to pass after all, at least in part?

Would things have been different if Egon had gotten together with Janine? Would Janine even be here now? Would she have died? Questions continued to race through Egon's mind, questions he couldn't answer-and would never be able to. He couldn't help but wonder, though, if there might have been something he could have done to prevent this, if only indirectly. It wasn't logical, to be sure, but Egon wasn't going to even pretend he was thinking logically at the moment.

"Peter." Egon had heard what Peter said about having promised Janine that he'd get her out of this, and he knew that a promise was something Peter took very seriously. Peter had lived his entire life with Charlie's broken promises, and had long ago vowed that he would never do the same. However, this was beyond Peter's control-the trick would be making him see that. "Peter!"

Calling his name had no effect. Peter simply ignored Egon and continued his attempts at resuscitation. Egon tried again. "Peter!" _This isn't working._

Peter was dimly aware of Egon calling his name, but he paid no attention to it. He had to help Janine. Suddenly, he felt strong hands closing around his arms, pulling him away from her. "No, let me go!" Peter struggled against whoever had him, eventually twisting enough to see that it was Egon. "Egon, let me _go_!"

"Peter." Egon's voice sounded choked. "Peter, let her go. She's gone." His arms tightened around Peter in what seemed to be half hug and half restraint.

"No!" Peter couldn't let himself believe that; it would mean that he'd failed Janine. He'd made a promise to her, the most important one yet, and to accept her death would mean he'd let her down. "Dammit, Egon!" He snapped his head around to glare into Egon's eyes. "Why are you doing this?"

"There's nothing more you can do," Egon said, very evenly. It was the tone he always used when he was trying to calm Peter down. "Let her go."

"She loved you," Peter snarled as he continued to glare at Egon. "She loved you, and this is how you treat her? Dammit, Spengler, are you even _human_? Is _everything_ an equation to you?"

Egon looked absolutely shocked-his eyes widened and his mouth opened soundlessly. He relaxed his grip enough for Peter to break loose, which the psychologist did immediately.

Ray caught Peter's arm, looking at him soulfully. "Peter, you don't mean that . . . ."

"Like hell I don't!" Peter was running on pure emotion. He pushed Ray away, returning to Janine. As he reached out to tilt her head back again, it occurred to him how clammy her skin felt. It was almost as though that was what had been needed to break the spell of denial that had been cast upon him. Janine wasn't going to survive this one. "She . . . she's dead." Peter heard how vulnerable he sounded, and cursed it. He thought of the harsh words he'd flung at Egon, and regretted them, but he didn't dare face Egon now. Not yet. The wounds were too fresh; the damage had been done. Apologies would do little good, at least right then.

Choking back a sob, Peter gathered Janine into his arms again. The tears he'd been fighting spilled over and ran freely down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Janine. Oh, God, I'm sorry." His fingers tightened around the satin of her dress. Her last words had been spent telling him not to blame himself, but how could he not? They should have left when they had the chance. He should have thought a way out before she'd even gotten near the poison. He'd let her down in the worst way, and this was final. He'd never have the chance to make it up to her. The force of that realization hit Peter like a Mack truck. "Oh, God, she's dead." He felt someone's hand on his arm again and shrugged it off. He didn't want to be comforted.

A flash of light caused Peter to look away from Janine for a moment, and he saw a ghostly mist come into the room. It glowed with a light that seemed to come from within itself, and it was floating toward them. Peter didn't want it anywhere near. This house and all of its ghosts had done enough damage. He clutched Janine's body closer to his chest, yelling, "You stay away from us!" His anguish fueled anger, lending his voice a strength that he didn't honestly feel. "Don't come any closer."

"It's okay, Peter," Ray said softly. "We saw it before, upstairs. It won't hurt us."

There really wasn't much of a choice; the mist was moving toward them anyway. It approached Janine, and seemed to disappear. After a moment, Janine's body began to glow with an ethereal light that seemed to come from both around and within her. Unsure of what was happening, and unable to stop it had he even known how, Peter watched, fascinated, as she began to rise from the floor. He'd seen this before, with Dana Barrett, but she'd been alive then-and it had been an obvious case of possession. Even with his parapsychology background, Peter had no clue what to make of this. Neither did any of the others, from the looks of it.

Satin and lace fell loose under gravity's influence, hanging freely in the air. Janine was still surrounded by that glowing light as whatever force was pulling her up changed direction so that she was standing upright-though hovering about three feet above the floor. Despite himself, Peter couldn't help but think of the Disney version of _Beauty and the Beast_. Of course, that had been when the Beast had been brought back to life. Did he dare to believe that the same thing might be happening here?

Janine's eyes opened, and a beautiful smile broke across her face. "William."

William, who'd been pretty quiet up to this point, stepped forward, staring up at her. His expression was one of undisguised amazement. "Rebekah?"

"Yes, my love," Janine replied, but she'd lost her Brooklyn accent. Perhaps William was right and the woman before them _was_ Rebekah.

Ray, always quick to arrive at a conclusion, summed it up. "Oh, neat. Our 'Misty' was _Rebekah_! It was a different form, but I've heard of Class Threes doing that, rarely . . . ."

William obviously didn't care how it had happened. He reached up, his hand brushing Rebekah's. "Oh, Rebekah. You don't know how long I've been waiting for this moment."

"Yes, I do." She smiled. "And now, only forever waits." Her gaze turned to the Ghostbusters. "The truth had to be known before I could be free. They saved me, saved us."

William looked at Peter. "I can't ever thank you enough."

Peter shrugged. "It's what we do." At least part of this story would end happily.

Rebekah floated down to the floor, laughing as she ran forward to meet William-who pulled her into a kiss. It was passionate, and both of them were obviously enjoying it. Peter sneaked a glance over at Egon, who looked as though he couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or not. Peter forced a smile and put a hesitant hand on his friend's shoulder. He had some major apologizing to do later, but for now . . . . "Relax, Spengs. That's not really Janine he's kissing, you know." He found himself on the receiving end of Egon's "Have you completely lost your mind?" look. After another few moments, Peter found that even he was getting uncomfortable, and tapped William on the shoulder. "Um, excuse me, but you guys have all eternity . . . . Er, Janine . . . ?"

Rebekah turned, giving Peter a look that certainly resembled one Janine might have given him. Her eyes closed and her body fell forward limply, the light vanishing. Peter quickly stepped forward to catch her. "Janine?"

She lifted her head, frowning a little. "Peter?"

At that moment, it was the sweetest sound the psychologist had ever heard. Peter pulled her into a hug instantly, his voice tight with emotion. Another tear slipped down his cheek, but it wasn't one of sorrow that time. "It's not nice to scare Dr. Venkman like that."

She hugged him back. "I'll keep that in mind." Her accent was back; it was Janine, all right.

Peter smiled at her as he pulled back. He was sure they'd have a long talk later, in private, but they had witnesses, and reputations to protect. "You'd better." After pulling Janine's glasses from his pocket and handing them to her, Peter took a step back, allowing Ray, Egon, and Winston to crowd around her. Egon reached out to hug Janine himself, whispering something in her ear that made her smile. Peter's own smile faded as he thought again of what he'd said to Egon earlier. There was another long conversation that was ahead. But Peter didn't care; they had their friend back. The story _was _going to end happily.

"William!" Everyone turned as Rebekah-now appearing by herself, and dressed in a dark blue gown-called out to her lover. "Are you ready?"

"Absolutely." William bowed slightly to the Ghostbusters. "Goodbye-and thank you all."

Peter nodded. "Glad to be of service. Enjoy yourselves on the other side. I've heard good things about it."

The others offered their own goodbyes, and William crossed to meet Rebekah. He put his arm around her waist. As they kissed again, both seemed to fade, then vanish.

Peter chuckled softly. "I always did love a good peaceful resolution."

"It would seem that's been the case," Egon agreed.

Peter looked around, wondering what had become of Anna and Charles, but neither was anywhere to be seen-until Anna came hurrying down the stairs with a suitcase.

"Wait for us!" she called, glancing back over her shoulder. "Charles?"

Charles was only steps behind, but passed her quickly. His brow furrowed as he glanced at her. "What are you doing with that?"

"I don't know what we'll need," Anna explained, shrugging. "And don't tell me 'you can't take it with you.' Watch me." She hugged each of the guys, and Janine, in turn. "Thank you." She stepped over to Charles, who was waving goodbye, and together they vanished-suitcase and all.

"Look!" Winston hurried over to the window.

Ray was the next to get there. "This is incredible!"

Had Peter not been interested already, his curiousity certainly would've gotten the better of him by that point. He crossed over to the window, Egon and Janine following-and gasped in amazement. The graveyard in the back had come alive . . . almost. Ghosts were disappearing all over; the secret that had haunted the Edwards mansion must have bound them as well.

Egon looked around the room after all seemed to be said and done, a light smile on his lips. "I don't have a PKE meter on hand, but I think we can safely assume that there aren't any more ghosts left in this mansion."

"You think?" Winston asked, laughing a little.

Janine sighed. "It's awfully sweet, _I_ think. Always nice to see fantasies come true." She looked down at her wedding gown, then eyed Egon for a long moment. "And, now, I think I'm going to fulfill one of mine." She stepped over to Egon, grabbed him by the front of his suit, and kissed him firmly on the lips, her arms reaching up after a moment to wrap around his neck. It rivaled the kiss they'd seen between William and Rebekah before Janine pulled away, a pleased smile on her face. "Thanks, Egon."

Egon didn't say anything immediately. He stared at her, but then recovered. "You're . . . welcome."

"Any time," Janine assured him. Peter decided to let that one pass without comment. He'd have plenty of opportunities later. Janine reached up, pulling the headpiece loose from her hair, and kicked off the high heels she was wearing. "C'mon, guys. Let's find my clothes and then get the hell out of here, okay? I want to go home."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Peter agreed. Home sounded wonderful. The rain had let up, when they'd looked outside, and they'd probably be able to navigate the roads.

"Good idea," Winston said, "though it might be a bit while we figure out how to get Ecto into shape. The phone's working, but everything else is a mess."

"Why?" Peter asked. "What happened?"

Winston looked over at Egon, then opened his mouth to reply, when a knock on the front door cut them off. "I'll get it." He opened the door to reveal two paramedics. "Hello."

"We had a call here about a poisoning victim?" one of the medics asked, stepping inside.

Peter, after sneaking a glance at Janine, laughed and walked over to join them. "You're not going to believe this. Let me just preface it by saying that we're Ghostbusters, and weird things _do _happen in our line of work . . . ."

_**Manhattan**_

It had been three days since the bust at the Edwards mansion, but the residual tension hadn't faded yet. An envelope filled with enough money to cover their usual fee and a couple thousand dollars more had mysteriously appeared in their mailbox the day before, but that was the only truly good thing that had happened since their return.

Egon and Peter were still walking on eggshells around each other, and all of the guys were treating Janine as though she were made of china. The gypsy, Leela, had taken a moment before the guys left to warn them not to go overboard in watching out for Janine. Her exact words had been, "Don't hold her too close; you might push her away." Peter tried to stop himself from hovering, knowing Janine hated it, but the image of her lying lifeless in his arms always returned, and he found himself being overly solicitous again instantly. Fortunately, he hadn't had witnesses, at least not most of the time. The guys would never have let him get away with it. Of course, they were doing the same thing, so perhaps they might.

Peter loved his sleep, when he could get it, but he'd always had a slight tendency toward insomnia, which tended to surface when he was under stress-like then. It was three in the morning, and the psychologist found himself watching an infomercial on television; they wanted him to buy a gadget that sliced and diced vegetables, along with a number of other things. Peter wouldn't have bought the thing even if he _had_ the motivation to get up from the couch, retrieve his credit card, and call the phone number, but it was better than watching _The Brain from Planet Arous_, which was on one of the old movie channels. He'd actually stopped to watch a few minutes of the movie, and could practically hear the actors plotting to kill their agents. The guy who got killed fifteen minutes into the plot was the lucky one. Ray would have probably watched it, though, if he'd been up. Ray loved those silly B-flicks. Peter could tolerate them if they had a man and two robots superimposed onto the screen, providing commentary.

A hand on his shoulder distracted Peter. He looked up to see Egon standing over him. "Oh, hi, Spengs." Peter scooted over to allow Egon room to sit down. "Join me?"

The blond man didn't seem terribly thrilled with the plan. "No, thanks. I'm quite sure I don't need whatever it is they're selling. What're you doing up?"

"Can't sleep," Peter replied, "but what else is new? You?"

"The same," Egon admitted. "I'd been working on a project of mine until now, but it's not progressing as well as I'd hoped. I seem to be more distracted than usual."

Peter smiled. It sounded like the perfect time for a little chocolate therapy, as he'd come to think of it over the years. How many times had he and Egon-or any of the others-been up in the middle of the night, discussing the issue of the moment over a cup of cocoa? Peter hadn't ever been counting-but if he had, he'd have lost track by now. He rose from the couch. "Kitchen, then?"

Egon returned the grin. "That sounds like a plan."

Peter chuckled, shaking his head slowly as they walked into the kitchen. "If these walls could talk . . . ."

"We'd be all over the tabloids," Egon finished dryly, reaching into one of the cabinets as he began gathering the ingredients to make the cocoa.

Peter laughed, surprised. "My God, Egon, was that a _joke_?" Egon's humor had always been very dry and subtle, but priceless to those who knew him well.

"Yes. I'm quite capable of them, you know." Egon's tone was light-too light.

Peter chanced a glance at his friend's expression before Egon turned away, toward the stove. It was the carefully neutral expression that meant Egon was making a concentrated effort to keep his feelings from showing. Peter had always hated that look, and he particularly hated it now, knowing he was partially responsible. It was time for that talk they had both been putting off. They were pretty much alone, after all, with Winston and Ray both asleep a floor above them . . . and there wasn't a much better setting for such a discussion. "Egon," he began.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry." This was always how it began whenever they'd tried to talk in the past few days. Peter would apologize; Egon would brush it off.

Egon shook his head. "You were upset, Peter. We've all said things under duress that we've regretted later."

This was where the conversation had typically ended; Peter wasn't going to let it go this time. They had to get past this, or things were never going to get back to normal. _Or a reasonable facsimile, _Peter thought; Ghostbusting didn't fall into a category that most people would find to be "normal." "I might have been upset, but that doesn't mean I had to say those things to you." Peter knew Egon well enough to tell that his friend had been hurt by the accusations, even if they were driven by Peter's grief at the time.

An awkward silence hung between them for a moment before Egon finally spoke. "True, but you may have had a point."

"A point?" Peter echoed, staring at the physicist. "Egon, what point could I possibly have had? Do you remember things differently than I do?"

Egon turned away from the counter, holding two steaming mugs; he might have shrugged if his hands hadn't been full. He set the mugs on the table and took a seat across from Peter before continuing. "I'm afraid I _do_ have the tendency to become lost in my science, to over-rationalize things."

"And we need that from you," Peter insisted. "It's something we've sort of relied on, you know?"

Egon's eyes met Peter's, gazing at him soulfully. "But I'm sure it must seem heartless at times."

"Oh, no," Peter argued. "'Heartless' was what _I _was doing."

"You were hurting," Egon offered.

"We all were!" Peter reminded him. "And I sure as hell didn't need to be kicking you when you were down. Let's get something straight, Spengs-right here, right now. I know you care about people, a lot more than you let on. You might do it in your own way, but you care." His voice grew soft as he lowered his gaze to stare into his cup of cocoa. "You cared enough to give a loud-mouthed jock a chance back in college."

Egon smiled and reached out with one hand to clasp Peter's wrist. "I've always considered myself fortunate that he gave me a chance as well."

To say anything more would have been turned the moment far too schmaltzy for Peter's taste, and so they simply sat like that for several minutes. The silence between them this time was one of understanding; there was nothing uncomfortable about it. Peter slowly shook his head as something occurred to him. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you sometimes, Egon. You can't even let me apologize properly without turning it into something complicated." He flashed Egon a grin to let him know he was teasing.

Egon merely raised an eyebrow. "I beg to differ. _You're_ usually the one complicating matters."

Peter's grin widened, and he gleefully stuck his tongue out at the blond.

Egon only returned the grin, picking up the mug in front of him. "Drink your cocoa, Peter; it's getting cold."

Janine sighed softly to herself as she returned to her desk, setting her package down next to the computer. She'd slipped out on her break to go to the convenience store down the street, needing both the novel she'd picked up and the reprieve. When things were slow, like today, the guys _did_ tend to hover near her desk, waiting for a call to come in, but they'd been overdoing it recently-ever since their return from Ballston. She understood their reasons, and found it sweet that they so obviously cared, but if there was anything that drove Janine crazy, it was being treated like she was made of spun glass and might break at any moment. If it went on for too much longer, she'd have to bring it up and tell them to knock it off. Janine had allowed it up until now because it seemed to be something the guys needed to do, their way of handling what had happened.

Janine didn't know how _she_ was handling what had happened, frankly. She'd _died_. That was typically a state one didn't return from. But she had. One moment, she was lying in Peter's arms, struggling to draw her next breath. The next thing she knew, she was falling forward into Peter's arms, and she felt fine. Everything had happened so quickly afterwards that Janine hadn't had time to process it then-and, upon arriving home, she found that the last thing she wanted to do was think about it. Of course, not thinking about it wasn't exactly an easy task, especially with the way the guys were acting.

Egon hadn't been home when Janine had left for the store; he'd already gone to his meeting with some old friends from the university. Winston was in New Jersey for most of the day, visiting his parents, so that only left Ray and Peter to hang around. Today hadn't been as bad as the previous couple of days. Still, it was enough.

At least Peter and Egon seemed to have resolved whatever had been going on between them. Janine didn't know what'd happened, and it wasn't her place to ask, but she'd definitely picked up on a sense that something was amiss. The tension seemed to have dissipated as of that morning, though, so perhaps things were finally settling down. Janine certainly hoped so. The status quo around the firehouse was something they all depended on. The sooner things returned to baseline, the better.

The firehouse was quiet, save for the strains of "Stairway to Heaven" from the third floor that suggested to Janine that Peter was still home. She used her foot to slide the bottom drawer of her desk open-sure enough, Slimer was still napping there, as he had been when Janine had gone out. _Best to let sleeping ghosts lie,_ she thought, closing the drawer gently.

There were no messages on her desk, and none on the answering machine when she checked it, so Janine headed upstairs, wanting to know what was going on. It was her job, after all, to keep track of the current status of things. There were days she wondered, affectionately, if "babysitter" should be added to her job description. Sometimes she _was_ her employers' keeper.

"Peter? Is that you?" Janine called, stepping off the second-story landing and into the kitchen.

The music paused-footsteps followed. A few moments later, Peter was coming down the stairs from the third floor; he joined Janine in the kitchen. "You're back."

"Your powers of observation astound me," Janine told him, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, I'm back."

Peter's expression wrinkled up in that way it always did when he wasn't going to let Janine get away with one of her cracks about him, but he hadn't found the proper comeback yet. "Yeah, well . . . ." He shrugged. "You know, Ray headed out to see if the new Captain Steel comic has arrived yet; we're the only ones here. This place is dead. Why don't you call it a day and go home?"

"No, that's okay." Janine shook her head. Even though she was tired of the Ghostbusters hovering around her, she didn't want to be alone. Being alone gave her too much time to think. "I'll stay. It's only another four hours."

"C'mon, you put in a ton of overtime at the Edwards place," Peter insisted. "Go on, take some time for yourself. We'll even pay you the four hours. How often do I make this sort of offer?"

"Not often enough," Janine responded automatically, "but your timing could be better."

"My timing?" he echoed. A concerned expression crossed his face, one Janine rarely saw from him. Oh, but she'd seen it at the mansion, more than she'd ever wanted to. "Is something wrong?"

_No, nothing's wrong, except that I keep finding myself obsessed with the concept of my own death, _Janine thought wryly, but kept her voice carefully neutral when she spoke. "Nothing's wrong. I . . . I drove today and traffic's pretty horrible right now." _That was lame._

Peter eyed her suspiciously for a moment, but apparently decided to let it go. "This is New York. Traffic's always a mess. But, hey, you don't want to go, fine. I'll make you a deal." He was a great salesman when he wanted to be, something he'd undoubtedly picked up from his father. "You go on ahead and go home-or you stay here and catch a movie with me."

"Are those my only choices?" Janine asked. She had to at least attempt to play the game.

"Yup," Peter confirmed. "_Caddyshack_ comes on Comedy Central in twenty minutes or so."

Janine couldn't entirely hide her smile. "_Caddyshack_? Talk about the ultimate 'guy movie.'"

Peter made a great show of examining himself before tossing her a devilish grin. "I seem to qualify. It's a funny movie. Besides, Bill Murray's in it, and he played me in _our_ movies, so we have to watch it."

"Ego, thy name is Peter Venkman," Janine sighed, but she followed him to the couch anyway.

"Besides," Peter added, "you might as well admit it. You like the gopher. Women love the gopher. It's like one of those dancing hamster things." He paused to move the bowl of popcorn near the edge of the coffee table to a less precarious position. The bowl was full, and Janine realized that he'd been planning this. She couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or not.

"Okay, the gopher _was_ kind of cute," Janine admitted, "but I've only seen the movie like once . . . ."

Peter sat down on the couch and motioned for her to join him. "Perfect chance to refresh your memory, then. C'mon, Janine, allow Dr. Venkman to begin your review course in the classics." He picked up the remote control and turned the television on.

"I thought you said the movie doesn't start for another twenty minutes," Janine pointed out.

"Eighteen, now," Peter said.

She swatted his shoulder lightly. "Smartass. What're we watching until then?"

Peter was channel-surfing, and took a moment to respond to the question. "I don't know," he told her, sounding for a moment like his movie counterpart when Ray had asked where the money for the Ghostbusting equipment was going to come from. "I really don't know."

"Peter?" Janine knew that tone, and it was never a good thing to hear from him. It nearly always meant that Peter was up to something. Either that, or he was at his wits' end and had to laugh to keep from going crazy.

"This is good," Peter declared, pausing at the NASA channel. They were currently showing satellite footage of Earth. The planet took up most of the screen. It wasn't doing anything, save for the occasional moving cloud formation.

Janine frowned after a moment. "Why are we watching this?"

"Nothing else on," Peter explained. "Unless you wanted to watch the zebra races."

"Zebra races?" Janine asked.

"You know, static. Snow. Whatever you call it. When all you see are those little black and white dots bouncing around."

_Okay, he's lost it,_ Janine decided. "No, I think the planet's fine, if that's the only choice I've got. We could always watch a video . . . or do something else entirely."

Peter shrugged. "I invited you to dinner and a movie, and you're going to get it."

"Where's dinner?" Janine challenged, though she knew he was teasing. She rolled her eyes as he pointed to the popcorn bowl. "Oh, thanks. Are you this cheap with all your dates?"

"No, just you," Peter shot back cheerfully. "Of course, it's a safety issue. With the two of us, a candlelit dinner might very well turn into a house fire. Wouldn't do to burn down a firehouse. Looks bad to the public."

Janine laughed. "No, you just let Egon and Ray blow the lab up on a quarterly basis."

"That's in the name of science," Peter argued. "But, okay, you want to talk. Let's talk."

"When did I say I wanted to talk?"

"You said 'something else.' Talking is something else." The look on Peter's face dared her to challenge him.

_Damn, but he can be sneaky, _Janine lamented. "What do you want to talk about?" She hoped he wouldn't mention the Edwards mansion, or anything related to it.

The query earned her another shrug. "The important stuff. You know, what's the meaning of life? What's going on with you and Egon? What's your sign?"

Janine was willing to play along. "Douglas Adams says it's forty-two, you'll have to ask Egon, and I'm a Taurus, how about you?"

"Scorpio," Peter answered, "but you didn't agree to hang out with me to hear about that. I'm not sure we're compatible, anyway. Something about the stubbornness of both signs conflicting. Gee, imagine that. Anyhow, I was going through some of my old notes, about ESP and out of body experiences . . . you ever had one?"

"Out of body experience?" Janine asked. "Not that I can recall. ESP? Maybe." It was _her_ turn to shrug. "I've thought sometimes that I might be a little psychic." She'd exaggerated that at times, hoping to attract Egon's attention, but she had no reason to now. "I get . . . feelings . . . about things sometimes. I thought for a long time it was just intuition, but after I started working here, I had to wonder."

Peter nodded. "I didn't believe in ghosts 'til I saw one. Guess it depends on what you're willing to accept. I know a lot of doctors who don't believe in NDEs."

Janine watched him suspiciously for a few seconds. _I don't want to go there, Peter. _She hoped this conversation was going to remain theoretical. She could handle theoretical. "Near-death experiences? You'd think they'd see them enough."

"They do," Peter said, "but a lot of them chalk it up to adrenaline rushes as the body approaches death, chemical things. I believe, though. I did when I first got into parapsych, but it was really cemented when I started studying them. They're so different, so diverse. It's amazing. I've had one."

He'd definitely let his guard down, Janine realized, or he wouldn't have admitted that to her. She suspected that he wanted to tell her about it, and she _was_ curious. "When? What was it like?"

"A couple of years ago," Peter explained. "It was one of our busts, the Class Seven who thought it might be fun to toss little Petey Venkman off a roof." His eyes were vaguely shadowed, and Janine understood. That had been a horrible bust for them all-they thought for a few days that they were going to lose Peter. This couldn't be easy for Peter to talk about; Janine reached out to place a hand over his. "I don't know when it was, exactly, right after I hit the ground, or in the ambulance, or in the operating room, or what-but, all of a sudden, I was in this white room. No glowing light, no tunnel, just a white room. With a white mattress. It looked a lot like one of the seclusion rooms over on St. Luke's psych ward, where I did some of the work for my doctorate. The light was brighter, but I remember thinking they looked a lot alike."

"What happened?" Janine asked.

"I didn't see my mom," Peter continued, "and I always thought I would, if I had a near-death experience. I guess 'family members who have already died' is a little too traditional for the Venkman mind. I was sitting there on the mattress, alone for a little while, and then this chick shows up. She's kind of short, black hair, big brown eyes, and she's-I swear I'm not making this up-wearing one of those Grim Reaper cloaks."

Janine bit her lip to keep from laughing. "The Grim Reaper's a _woman_?"

"This one was. She said I wasn't dead, but it was close, and she was 'hanging loose' until she knew which way it was going to go. She asked a lot of weird questions, trivial stuff, and then she just said, 'Your call, Petey.'"

The moment of choice. Janine had seen that in the accounts of near-death experiences she'd read. "And you chose to come back." Her fingers involuntarily squeezed tightly around his hand for the briefest of moments. It _had_ been close.

Peter smiled at her lopsidedly. "I didn't know what I was choosing at first, but I put two and two together. We'd talked a little about the guys, and you. I couldn't give that up. And, I have to think, that since I was given the choice, it couldn't have been my time."

His time. It dawned on Janine exactly what had been bugging her about her own brush with death. She'd never _made_ that choice; she'd been brought back to life without her ever being aware of it. Had it been her time? Various television shows and movies speculated on what happened to people who didn't "go" when their time came, and the repercussions were rarely good. Janine looked up to meet Peter's eyes. "It wasn't your time, Peter."

"But . . . ?" he prompted.

_There are days I wish you weren't such a damned good psychologist._ "I . . . ." She sighed deeply. "I don't know. I didn't _have_ anything like that. No tunnel, no white room, nothing. It's true, what they say about people who are dying _knowing_ it, at least it was for me. I didn't want to die, but I knew it was coming. There was a sort of black edge to my vision . . . what I _could_ see, anyway. I didn't have my glasses on." She chuckled self-deprecatingly; at times like this, she completely understood Peter's need to make bad jokes at the most inopportune of moments. Sometimes, it was the only thing you _could_ do, if you wanted to keep from going to pieces. "I knew you were gonna try to pull a guilt trip over it, because of all those promises your dad made and broke, and you'd promised me we'd get out, but there was nothing you could have done."

"I should have done more," Peter insisted.

"No." Janine's tone brooked no argument. "You did everything you could. If Ripley hadn't been trapped, you all might have died. I figured, at least it was only me, if it had to end that way, and not everyone. New York needs the Ghostbusters. Hell, the world needs you guys. The truth about Rebekah was out. If there had been any way possible to get out of that, I knew you'd have found it. The truth of the matter is, shit happens sometimes."

Peter reached out, squeezing her shoulder supportively. An unasked question lurked in the depths of his green eyes, and Janine could tell that he didn't really want the answer-but he had to know, nonetheless. He finally forced himself to ask, "Was it . . . . Did it hurt at all?"

She wanted to lie to him so badly, but she couldn't. Janine nodded slowly. "Yeah." The pain had been incredible, as if there were liquid fire in her veins as the poison worked its way through her system. Peter didn't need that much detail. "That was the only good thing I could see about dying . . . ."

"That it would end," Peter finished, his voice noticeably rougher than usual. "Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry." His eyes were too bright-and noticing that led Janine to also notice that her own eyes were misting. She didn't resist as Peter reached out and pulled her into a hug.

Dazedly, Janine recalled that Peter's mother had fought a long battle with cancer before her death. He would certainly understand how death could mean a release from pain. Janine wiggled her arms loose from where they'd been pinned by Peter's hug, wrapping them around his waist. "There wasn't really anything worth mentioning after that. I was dying, and then I just . . . wasn't. I don't remember anything about what happened with William and Rebekah, except when they dispersed. Ray told me about it later. Maybe that was finishing up the healing, or whatever it was. I wasn't aware of any of it until I was falling forward, and you caught me." And wasn't that what big brothers did? "That's what bugs me. You made a choice to go back, because it wasn't your time. No one gave me a choice. I can't help but wonder, what if it really _was_ my time and I missed it somehow?"

Peter grabbed her by the shoulders, gently but firmly, and eased her far enough away from him that they could look into each other's eyes. "Listen to me, Janine. It was _not_ your time. Don't ever think that, not even for a moment. People go before their time a lot, like Ray's parents. Not everyone gets another chance, and I'm still not sure how you got yours, but I'm damned glad for it." Peter seemed to have surprised himself with that, and he released her, though his posture remained open. "And if you breathe one word of that to another living human being . . . ."

"You'll deny it," Janine supplied, grinning broadly.

"No." Peter shook his head. "I'd never deny _that_-but I've got a reputation to maintain, so keep your mouth shut."

It was times like this that Janine used to remind herself how much she loved Peter when he was being particularly obnoxious. "My lips are sealed if yours are."

"Deal." Peter offered a hand, which Janine shook. "And we _both _know creative methods of revenge."

"Agreed." Janine gave him another quick hug, her arms around his neck this time. "Thanks, Peter."

"You too." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, rectangular piece of paper and pressing it into Janine's hand. "Here, take this."

Janine examined it. "A business card?" Donald Alessi, PhD. A psychologist. "Who's this guy?"

"I knew him at Columbia," Peter explained. "He's good-and affordable. He works with a lot of people who've come close to dying. Trauma victims, mainly, but . . . . I'm not saying you _should_ see him, but if you need to talk to someone, he's the guy I'd recommend."

Janine nodded, understanding. She tucked the card into her own pocket. She didn't know if she'd need it yet, but it was nice to have if she did. "Thanks."

"Sure." Peter checked his watch, then picked up the remote and changed the television's channel to Comedy Central. An episode of _Saturday Night Live_ was finishing, but it was one of the more recent episodes. He sighed. "I feel old. I liked this show a lot better in the first few seasons. It used to be really good." He chuckled. "Of course, back in those days, I don't think I ever imagined that any of those guys might be in a movie about anything I was remotely related to."

"Yeah, I know the feeling." Janine chuckled as well, reaching in front of her to grab the bowl of popcorn. Squeals from downstairs warned them that Slimer had awakened, and it wouldn't be a good idea to leave the bowl unprotected. "Who'd've guessed?"

Peter pointed to the screen as a commercial announcing that _Caddyshack_ was next came on. "We'll start with this because it's convenient. Then you need to see _Animal House_."

"Already covered," Janine assured him.

"Well, you're going to do well in this class, then!" Peter grinned. "What about _Vacation_-the first one?"

"Only a few thousand times."

Undeterred, Peter continued. "Okay, something more recent. _Crazy People_?"

Janine laughed. "Yeah, I loved the whole New York ad campaign in that one. Come to New York-there were fewer murders last year!"

"Hmmm," Peter mused, "maybe you're not as hopeless as I originally thought."

_Okay, you asked for this one, _Janine thought as she hit him.

"Ow!" Peter protested. "I get no respect!"

"Rodney Dangerfield Syndrome?" Janine suggested.

"Must be," Peter agreed. "Terminal case."

"You're a case, all right," Janine muttered.

"Shut up, Janine-the movie's coming on."

"Now who gets no respect?"

They continued to argue well into the first commercial break, but it didn't matter. Peter was more than happy to fill Janine in on the parts they'd missed. _And he picks on Ray for knowing movies by heart!_

Ray returned from the comic book shop about halfway through the movie; Egon got home not long after. They joined Peter and Janine on the couch. Egon made a token protest about the absolute silliness of the movie first, but he quickly gave in. Winston came in just after _Caddyshack_ had ended, but joined the others; they were still watching Comedy Central, because _Ghostbusters II_ was next in the lineup and Peter had declared an open Mystery Science Theater-style session. Janine, still bitter over the whole Tully thing, had been more than happy to play along with them. They hadn't gotten far into the movie at all when the comments started flying.

"Hey, kid, _we_ can kick He-Man's butt _any_ day of the week!" That was Ray, who had never been fond of the scene with the bratty kids, though they'd all done their share of birthday parties that hadn't gone as planned.

"Yeah!" Winston was even less fond of that particular scene than Ray was. "I'd like to see He-Man take down Gozer!"

"The worst is yet to come," Peter intoned dramatically. "Dr. Peter Venkman, reduced to hosting _World of the Psychic_. I hosted that show _once_! Once! And I hated it."

"You boys have no room to complain," Janine reminded them. "Remember who got stuck dating Tully."

"Poor Janine." Peter sounded completely unsympathetic. "She goes from chasing Egon to boffing Louis-ow! Janine!"

Egon completely ignored that. In fact, he redirected the matter entirely. "While there were a few good moments in this movie, I much prefer the first."

"Don't we all," Ray said, smiling. "Talk about a great movie-even if it _hadn't_ been about us!"

"Back to the matter at hand." Peter pointed at the screen. "If I'm putting books out, why am I hosting stupid TV shows with stupid people on them?"

"A mystery for the ages," Winston answered, "and even _I'm_ leaving that one alone."

Slimer swooped into the room, chattering excitedly as he saw what they were all watching. He liked the movie. He also liked popcorn, and immediately made a move for it, only to be thwarted by Peter. "Aw, knock it off, spud! There's perfectly good garbage in the kitchen. Go eat that!"

Slimer, who'd never claimed to be a gourmet, immediately took the advice; it would keep him busy for at least a _few_ minutes.

The commercial break came, providing a break for the movie's critics-at least until a commercial for diamonds came on, advising men, "Appease the goddess and maybe she'll let you live another year." Janine immediately found the four men in the room looking at her pointedly, even Egon, and burst into laughter. She loved these guys. She loved her life.

It was wonderful to have a second chance. Janine whispered a quiet thanks to whomever or whatever had given that to her. It might have been her imagination, but she could've sworn she heard a soft, "You're welcome," answering. Until she realized that it was Peter-and made sure that a few pieces of popcorn ended up in his hair. His protests were reward enough.

They were definitely going to be all right.

_The End_


End file.
